Pushing The Barrow Poem by Amanda J Harrington

A headache, thumping in the back of the mind, like a long, slow, bumpy ride up the hill

Next to Dad’s house when he still did everything and called to them from the top of the roof

With the chimney clasped into his hands, like he was measuring for curtains



The windows open to the day and the breeze in the house making the smell lift into summer

With the pure echoes of his mother singing, as she laid out bread for the last rise



All of it gone before and never left behind, always there, flowers bringing it to him each April



The rocks in the wheelbarrow clunked to the side as he tried to cover the last yards

Without dropping the lot

They tumbled out and he cursed, bending to reach them, then standing straight

Hand in his back



A yearning look behind, at the house, hoping Marl would come out with his dinner

And give him an excuse

To sit awhile



The door banging like the rocks, tumbling in his head and the door was shut

Then opened and it was dark inside, there was nothing and he was filled,

He was up to the brim with it

But couldn’t remember the word

Only the feeling



Pain came and it wasn’t the rocks or the broken road or any of the things which had come before

When he found life mellow or hoarse, depending



It had the voice of his first teacher, shouting across the room, hating them all,

Face filled with nothing but sneers and calls and the love of suffering

Until they had been there a week and he changed

Making them see how he could be

If they learned it well enough



He never trusted him again, no matter that it was years

How can you trust a man who changes himself

And then laughs it away?



The sound of his teacher blends into the rocks and the awful knocking of the barrow

As it tumbled away and he has to bend, nearly into the ditch, to rescue it all



Finally, it was the sound of Marl, tapping on the car window, smiling at him

Holding the bag with his dinner in it and waiting for him to wind down

So she could kiss him through the gap.



He bent up towards her and their lips met. As she moved away again,

The light behind her, making it hard to see, she whispered to him.



He reached further but she was moving away and still the knocking.

More effort, it hurts! but more effort and then he was out of the car

And lying on his floor, his eyes blinking tears and his hands

Clasping nothing.



She had told him to wake so he did, to the sound of nothing but the wind

Through broken glass and cold air feeling its way

Into his heart

With a memory of something that was not knocking, or banging, or his Dad’s hammer



Once more, far away, too quick to tell where from,

A dog barked and then was still.



Lying on the floor, he cried, knowing he had to get up.