12 months ago today I lost my best friend, Suzy, to breast cancer. Recently, I drove past her old house and was sad to see her car gone from the space where it used to be, the empty house unlit. I’m working on this poem at the moment, it’s still in draft form.
They took her car away on Sunday,
loaded it onto the wagon, hearse-slow,
bringing neighbours to the windows,
stopping bikes and a five-a-side.
It looked tiny, toy tin thin
as they strapped it in,
the coat hanger aerial stirred
like a weathervane;
the sun strong behind cloud.
A small crowd gathered on the corner
in sad whispers, a congregation
and murmurs, claims of who best knew her,
was last to see her, first to know.
The empty driveway,
faded chalk figures holding hands,
the ghost of a hopscotch.
The wagon moves off,
the congregation dispurse, return
to busy kitchens and the cleaning of windows,
the five-a-side kicks off again as a
bike wheel spins in the sun,
the wagon has almost gone,
her bumper sticker: