charlie mcgarrity

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Driving Back Home

Yesterday I found a cuddle
that you had given me some nights before.
It was hidden in a jumper
that I had lazily tossed into the corner
that night as I had climbed wearily into bed.
Today it is not my body that is weary
but my soul.
And so this surprise find of your cuddle brings
a quiet and gentle rest.
I find too that there is
some scent of you
some sense of you on the breeze that brushes past me,
and rummaging in a drawer I find
that the feel of your head on my shoulder
is still on the collar of a shirt.
I turn to catch a glimpse of your laughter
skipping round the sitting room, the light of your smile
upon the chair by the door.
And I pull, all soft and wobbly, a giggle from my pocket.
And now if I listen carefully, quietly, gently
I can hear the words of your voice
like your touch on my hand.
Then, now, I remember that
the moments that pass between us
do not fade away,
but are always waiting to reach out from the stillness
and plant themselves upon the page.

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