by Yoshua Selvadurai

Spheres of soap glitter
and sparkle, holding small
rainbow-streaked worlds
in their spinning orbs,
before sinking and dying
on the cold porcelain

Hands washed, mask fixed
I enter your hospital room,
with eyes closed you sense
my presence, grey eyes
flutter open, blinking like
those fairy penguins who
emerged shuddering
from D’Entrecasteaux Bay,
we laughed together that day
at their gentle confusion

From two metres apart
our gazes meet, holding
shimmering moments
beyond these walls when
sea gulls rose on thermals,
ancient acacias shook in
warm ocean breezes and
our feet traced known paths
Now, I feel your need for
insight, some sign on this
new unchartered trail     
from your grandson
who knows,
who ought to know,
how to return, restore, renew

Your hair poignantly neat,
your arms obediently still,
you await revelation
I am numb, my voice is lost

Standing on the cliff’s edge
I see the waves crash on the
dark rocks below

Scared to be reminded,
scared to forget,
a lifetime of memories
coalesce, flash and
tremble within me

Learning to swim at Sister’s Beach,
your arms holding me from beneath
warm emerald waves, soft ribbons of
water threading my hair

But now I cannot be the same for you,
at the foot of your bed I feel myself
shuddering, falling, a wordless scream
shakes the walls, no one can hear

Without you near, my greatest fear
We are two hearts intertwined
You are the reason I am

My soul is clinging onto this moment
I do not know what to say
Before you leave