The Meteorology Of Loss Poem by Richard George

I.M. Katrin Cartlidge 1961-2002

On the train to Birkenhead
for her father's autopsy,
my mother saw the rainbow
of rainbows, a double.
I woke with a spark today:
the sunlight in September
is the loveliest, pure
as a woman's touch.
I turned to the obituaries
and Katrin had died;
who snake-charmed devotion.
I didn't know her,
but it felt like I did.
And yesterday was a deluge,
hours of it, and stinging eyes.
I wonder if the dead live
up there, in the sky.
I wonder if we breathe them.