I think he used to smile at me,

kiss me,

hug me.

I think he would brush his fingers through my hair.

Laugh with me.

Sit with me.

Hug me, cradle me -

hold

me.

I think we were close,

very close,

(I think I'm supposed to love him?

And he's supposed to love me?)

But I'm not sure,

everything's

such

a

blur...

20.7.2020

raindrops on my windshield

wiped into a blur,

smearing lake and sky;

raindrops on my windshield,

teardrops in my eye

wiped into a blur,

watercolor world,

car bobbing like a boat,

wiped into a blur,

guilt filling my throat

watercolor world,

painted lovely, numb,

sinking in the stormwater,

coldness crashing in

watercolor world

blurring siren din

painted lovely, numb,

is how they’ll tow me out

body blur blue broken

icy as a lie

Painted lovely numb

teardrops in my eye

I think I've blurred

this past year,

written it into some dream

I had years ago

and only remember the outlines of.

Only recall the small details

that I wrote down

many times over,

but only wrote the story

that everyone else saw.

Because maybe if I could pass the time

with self-destruction playing in the

background

the story that I wrote down

many times over

would be the true one.

The self-destruction

would fade into another girl.

But having written the same story

with the same crimson ink

on the same scraps of tissue paper

many times over

I can blur the past but

I can't forget the blurriness.

can't even

tell

what

it was.

one blink

and it was

over.

your breath

caught,

questions

bubbled.

in, out

in, out

in, out.

your entire

life was

spinning

around

that single

moment,

and you

missed

it.

what now?

The fresh roses in my garden need the rain to fall, but the sun’s beaming down. I can see it through the misty windows. Feel it as I shuffle out through the front door—has the frame got smaller? The heat folds itself around me. I need a fag. The lounge chair feels further away today. The sun shines so bright these days. I hear my daughter’s steps on the dried-out grass and the patio before she sits by me.

“Have you moved these chairs?” I ask.

“No Dad,” she says, soft-like.

“I swear they used to be nearer the house. They’re too close to the edge, you might fall off one day.”

Spend most of my time complaining, these days. I can guess what she must think of me. But she never says it. Instead, she hands me an orange.

“Thanks, kid.”

My nails dig into the rind. Wet perfume rises like a cloud around us. I stop peeling and leave everything in my lap. Its smell is enough. I don’t have much taste for life these days, not since Rob’s funeral sucker-punched everything right out of life. Every time I start thinking about it, hours turn into minutes and before I know it, Jess is clicking her fingers and saying “Hello, Earth to Dad?”. Focus and appetite have become impossible. I put things in my mouth and I’d as much spit them out as enjoy them. Jessie brings me things, Lambert and Butler’s and ice cream, usually. I try not to seem ungrateful. I am grateful. Jessie’s also got a cleaner coming here twice a week.

Jessie says she’s been thinking. I listen. I assume it’s about her job. Jessie’s a professional photographer which means she goes to a lot of weddings. I’m still waiting for the day she’s going to have a change of heart, choose a proper profession, one not so up and down. But it’s not. It’s about me. Again.

“Dad, I think we need to get your eyesight tested,” she clears her throat.

“Not this again,” I say, “look, I’m upset, I’m not blind.”

She books an appointment anyway. I go because I don’t have much of a choice. I’ve been in a blur ever since Rob. You don’t spend fifteen years with a dog without getting upset when they get lung cancer. Especially not my Rob.

The eye tests must be rigged because I can't see a thing. I get prescribed a pair of specs thicker than a pound coin. And a cane. I have a cataract in my left eye, which means I’ve been walking around in a blur.

I go home. I can’t believe how blue the sky is, how distinct from the golden fields. The grass is green, too, who knew? My roses need watering, and I get to it. The door frame is perfectly sized. God. And if Rob could see the size of the steak Jessie’s brought round for dinner, he’d be over the moon. We make steak sandwiches, warming the bread on the grill before spreading it with a thick layer of garlic, parsley and butter.

We eat them out, facing the sunset, cold beers in our hands. I can see the bubbles rise up to the surface. I’d forgotten you could see that. I start laughing, and Jessie turns to me in surprise, her chin shining with the grease dripping from her lips. She sits back, I’m so excited I can’t help but lean forward.

“Everything was so blurry before, I didn’t realise. Everything’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sunset.”

“Ha, enjoy it, Dad.”

“I will, lass.”

And I do.

All I can remember are the sounds of the busy hospital. Bustling, shoving, sobbing, screaming silently, the sounds of myself stumbling away from the room. Even in the cramped halls, I was given room to walk, I know that, because I never hit into anything, even though I wished I would. Just to feel the pain. To try to get rid of the pain killers that made my numbed brain disoriented.

It all passed in a blur of tears.

He was becoming a Van Gogh before my very eyes. His form dissolved into streaks of browns and blacks and his words faded into a haze of intercom static. I felt the thud ripple through my body. His hands were everywhere. His voice was smeared across my field of vision. His scent was peppered around the room. Sirens harmonized with his screams for help. Reds and blues tangoed around his opaque face and a faint yellow laser tempting me to play with it. I felt myself rise, then roll, then fall, then pressure. Over and over and over. Speaking calmly though there were frantic undertones. Someone talking to him far away. Clear, zap! Clear, zap! Nos, low steady beeping, screams, the impact of bodies, crying, Save her! SAVE HER! Darkness.

The haze she was feeling

The blur she was concealing

As her eyes had a mind of their own

For dreams she was living

To sleep without giving

The blur of what life would be alone

the days pass in blurs like trees

from the window of a car.

just smears of green in an endless

landscape meant to be seen

but we move too fast to notice.

it is how this year closes.

in a streak of emotions too saturated

to pick apart and examine,

could the next year bring us famine?

i should hope not, but again.

hope didn't stop this year, did it.

it was one bad thing after another

and there is no telling what the weather

will look like in January.

a spot of hail. a drip of fire.

something to tide this beleaguered

hovel into the next decade.

i'm waiting for the world to punish me

as it has done to others in this

horrid, evil century.