A Kind of Heaven Shared

 

 

Bill was a boy once too.

I did not know him then.

Or perhaps we were child play mates in another life.

For I hope that all is circular.

 

In a cool garage den,

Extends a tiny silver screw,

Balanced,

On the finger tip of one so appreciative.

 

It is a beautiful thing,

The hand of a Bill,

Those veins that pop and prickle,

With texture.

 

In a kind of heaven we play together in a warm Brisbane living room,

With porcelain elephants,

And beautiful carved animals collected over a life time.

When the play is done, the play continues outside under a sparkling sunshine,

The smell of frangipani and tropical flowers on the thick, hot air.

We pick oranges and get cuts and bleed and squeeze the oranges in the kitchen,

Breaking off the lime green leaves with crisp snaps.

 

The conversation is about important things,

Or,

Just cookies…

Or,

Supported in the silence between brilliance and fantasy,

in mutual understanding.

 

Bill, himself, now a part of the world of science,

Is glad to be.

His spirit floating in tiny metallic particles between stars and pieces of space rock.

I cannot wonder what other-worldly crustacea he has found,

To study.

 

A life time to explore and an infinity to wonder,

With a freshness of mind,

In death.

 

Where each of us will one day travel

To mingle together

In a dazzling cosmos

Scattered with particles of the memory

Shared by all.

 

And most importantly for this day,

Shared by Bill,

Who is now lost.

Apart from us now.

But not forever.

 

                                   By Jayenna Dall

                                    29 April 2011