Christ, Ava,
the O in gold –
it was like the colour, or the thing but
melted down and pouring, pouring, liquid low, a shine,
aglow…
I think if you’d heard it too, Ava,
we might not – I might not have to –
When the boys had left the basement flat,
I put a pan onto the hob and cooked the peas.
If I’d had a walled garden or a clipped
hedge maze to run through barefoot in a nightdress, I
might have pined and waxed and waned and drowned
myself in the fountain, Ava,
but there was nowhere for my body to
break into a sprint alone,
and so I climbed back into bed,
I ate fish fingers, peas and ketchup,
and I watched a man sell a vintage
bread delivery bike for twice the amount he paid.
You called me today.
That’s right.
We spoke – you know this, Ava, you’ve known this from
the start –
Hi, this is Ava from…
and my blood stopped and I faltered,
…hi …hello,
you asked if I was having trouble signing up to
Goodlord,
trouble?
you offered to guide me through the process
as though I were some reluctant grandparent, befuddled
and enraged by CAPTCHA, shouting
WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALL OF THE
CROSSWALKS
WHY?!
Goodgod there’s so much that I want to say
to you, Ava,
but not like that –
voice to voice,
you speaking to me as though we were
