One for C & C
(and I hope the formatting holds - the very short lines are supposed to be
indented so they begin just below the end of the previous line!)
In Times Such As These
It’s high summer, but the weather’s unsettled - there are storms -
and, as instructed, you turn up and walk slowly down a long corridor
then wait in a room with tall windows where people stand still,
where you’re hoping the light will always pour in,
and
there’s a whisper -
though, when you look round, you can’t see who’s moving, who’s nodding,
and you’ve always done this, been someone who pauses, wants reassurance,
a smile like a touch you don’t fully recall but felt as a small child
when your father merely traced your hair and you felt strong.
It is a whisper
that’s been heard by the people around you - him in the corner with
crutches,
her with the eye patch, those over there with bandages on their hands -
the comfort they know in their calm faces, their brave postures,
so that, even if men stood near them with Uzi’s, they wouldn’t flinch,
wouldn’t avoid each other’s eyes, or look down at the floor.
It is a whisper
that’s heard when the world is like this, one that’s so vital to hear,
one that’s louder than paper, that puts announcements in their places,
that works round the back of those with walkie-talkies, and people grin,
but you don’t know what it’s saying, you know you don’t need to,
just knowing it’s said is enough, except now you’re here
and you see
some who stare blankly, who you feel sure once felt so certain,
but now look so see-through you can see their hearts trembling,
yet you can whisper so they will hear, too - and others stood near them
may hear what they pass on - that what’s whispered elsewhere
is still here.
Bob Cooper
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