I see Trevor getting on the bus, I’d get out of my seat
to say hello, but then what? The bus is crowded.
When I see him I remember Simon and the last garden (does he
want reminding?) they planted out. All that dark purple lavender
and marigolds, small cups filled with orange light like spinning tops.
Laid out with such care. Do you still bother? I don’t think I could,
I’d let the weeds run riot. The dying know how to live—they have to.
We were almost friends for a while. Then he sold up, moved away.
The last time we spoke he looked much thinner, his head shaved,
he said he was living it up, doing “too many” (semi-apologetic shrug
and smile) drugs. He was in a hurry, too fast for me. I watch
him now climbing upstairs to sit with the smokers.
Maria Jastrzębska, a poet, editor and translator and her own work, is widely anthologized, most recently in Hallelulujah for 50ft Women (Bloodaxe 20015). She co-translated Elsewhere by Iztok Osojnik (Pighog Press 2011) and is the co-editor of Queer in Brighton (New Writing South 2014) with Anthony Luvera. Dementia Diaries, her literary drama, toured nationally in 2011. Her most recent collections are At The Library of Memories (Waterloo Press 2013) and Cedry z Walpole Park (F.I.T SŻP, Faktoria, 2015) her selected poems translated into Polish and published bilingually. www.mariajastrzebska.wordpress.com
This poem appeared in Everyday Angels (Waterloo Press, 2009).