Sue Hubbard

Clissold Park


Croo-croo! Croo-croo!
An invisible wood pigeon calls

from the far fringe of trees,
his fat-bodied song stuffed full of early summer.

Ad infinitum he repeats himself,
pausing only for echoes.

These city’s greens are deceptive
of a certain peace. Lovers sprawl

on new mown grass as if there’s a tomorrow,
toddlers giggle smeared with ice cream
.
And with the bird’s insistent refrain
I’m back in that Surrey rose-garden

where grief, though present,
was still only a dream.

How quickly a month slips by –
that hiatus between a breath and a breath

when your paper hand still held
some feeble warmth.
.
Ticking off each fragile gasp,
a minute is enough to know a life,

though the dead are impervious
to our childhood questions,

the truth a void they can no longer fill.
Now you’ve no need of birdsong.

But oh, that I’d spoken of what was lodged
in this pigeon heart; taken a chance

before you walked off into the night,
choosing not to look back. Afraid.

Copyright © Sue Hubbard 2016

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About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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One Response to Sue Hubbard

  1. I think this is a fine poem whose subtlety justifies its length.

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