It's Still Life

Here in This Knocking Knocking

Winter quickened
through gaps and
crannies in the windows.
The curtains trembled

against the draught, and
the knocking knocking
of that oak branch
against the house.

I thought it a train whistle
at first, wind-songs blasting
in the distance. Icy cold
hitching along the tracks.

My dreams that night were
strewn with shipwrecks,
and all I could do was
stand on the beach,

and repeat, Sorry. Sorry.
I looked on in silence,
listening for a meaning
in the word.

My father died that night.
He dies again, every time
the wind reminds me of
its knocking knocking.

Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 30 “a meeting” and Poetic Asides “The End”. I don’t know what the afterlife brings, but I do hope that I’ll be meeting up with my dad again. I am so thankful that my memories of him are joyful.  ©Misky 2021 Shared with #apoemaday on Twitter