Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Ten Months Gone

A dozen conversations, a baby burbling, an espresso machine's screech. Amid these a palpable silence, where once my consciousness chattered to yours.

In my hands I clasp the silence, turn it over: made of clay, yet throwing, hurling won't shatter it. Hardened, fired at a terrific heat. Months till it cooled enough to handle or, rather, till its touch didn't scald and briefly efface my fingerprints.

What if I had held it, while hot, to my face? Some days still I wish I had done it, wish everyone could see the scar of your loss. 


  1. Anonymous8:11 am

    Thank you for sharing this.

  2. Anonymous11:11 am

    Excellent words Carrie, the smallest things return us to grief sometimes.


  3. Anonymous11:13 am

    Not sure if my comment made it? Sorry if its here twice.

    Excellent words Carrie, sometimes it is the smallest things that return us to our grief.