31.1.11
Ripples
I remember it well –
(Albeit not in the Chelsea Hotel):
Walking by the river and past the Globe
The first of December and the wind nipping our cheeks.
I could feel my bones and see your beret,
Your brogues clopping all the while as
We passed the pale trees lining the entrance,
The building but a shell.
Stone sunflower seeds scattered everywhere,
Lying dormant under dim fluorescent lights.
Wet pushchair wheels rolling across the concrete floor,
Meandering and painting their way to the foyet.
The mechanical suck of electric doors.
A till chiming to the tune of ten pounds.
My face turned to yours.
Your eyes looking out to sea:
The rippling effect of the sunflower seeds,
Indistinguishably unique, playing tricks with the eye.
Millions of stones from thousands of miles.
Millions of people and millions to come.
We caught a glimpse but had to let go.
The minute hand awoke and shuddered forward;
Its tip twitched like a plucked string
And we obeyed its creaking call.
The faint echoes dissolved behind us.
We held each other’s hand
And saw the last of the Winter’s ashen leaves
Drift gracefully from the withering trees.
