Next door

I will remember you

The way you collected things

like I collect things

The cards and the memories

The religious keepsakes

Except you believed.

I’d always buy you angels.

A month ago, I found one I forgot to send at Christmas.

Next Christmas, I’d thought.

Every Easter,

Looking for a card with meaning

As I knew it meant something to you

And you meant something to me.

Do you remember all the times you helped me move house?

Carrying lampshades and cushions

With your packed lunch

and your Special Brew

You’d always ask for a posh glass.

Lost again with mum on the way home.

Another tale to tell.

Before that, were summers stretched out like decades

Crisps in the cupboard in your dining room

Cutting the grass in your garden

Your son was a brother to my brothers.

I remember you in bright purple

your clip on earrings

with glasses before your surgery.

That was classic Margaret.

I remember your sense of humour

How fucking blunt you were.

You knew your own mind

You were strong and kind

With no time for self-pity.

Your husband was killed the year I was born.

He has been dead as long as I’ve been alive.

I must have reminded you.

Did you know that you took us in on the worst day of my life?

You were there for me

For us

For my whole family.

You never cared who was right or wrong

You never took a side

You were the last person on earth

We all liked.

I’ll drive your car, now mine, to your funeral.

Still with the Virgin Mary on the dashboard

Still with St Christopher tied to the lighter.

And me
who has never believed in anything

I hope you got there.

__________________