The Day That Peace Died

2.45pm Wednesday, in the Home Counties

I was walking though the green fields with my legacy friend, Annabel,

My friend who had lost her husband the year before. She was hollow

But still beautiful

In her tartan hat

Empty ring finger

Puckered lips

Perfect skin

2.50pm my cramps started

I could feel my period falling down, late

Notes on grief:

Grief’s got sticky hands

Grief

Leaves marks

Like blisters

Oozing

Apprehension

Doubt

Guilt

Smallness

Nausea

Humiliation

Aching

Death had touched her, Annabel

And me, in a way

Left her behind

Left me a little more empty

Like some wild stallion

Neighing and bolting

Left behind

With my small grief

And her big bigger grief

Yes

And at just after 3pm, Annabel asks for more time

“Please, just a little more time,” she says

“Please”

So the light must be on again

Her radiance overcoming,

The blisters temporary

Cat scratches

That will heal

In time

In green fields

With friends

And hot tea

And port

And prayers

And time

In time

And trust

3.30pm we got back to the cottage

I scraped the mud off my boots

Jumped in the car

4.15 pm swerving through motorway lanes

Trying to keep my eyes open

I pushed down the window

I checked the dog in the back seat

Concentrated on staying awake

Focused on not

Needing to urinate

Focused on not

Focusing on the pain

And the black blood

4.45pm I got home

Got into bed

Shut my eyes

The blood was redder now

6pm I woke up

Went downstairs

Ate a biscuit

Called my mum

She was working

She’s always working

“Sorry” I said

“I hope you’re not too disappointed”

6.45pm I text my in laws

Sorry… I typed

I hope you’re not too disappointed

7pm I made some dinner

Used the pot that was a wedding gift from my brother in law, Jonny, the doctor,

I wondered if there could be Teflon in it, the pot

I hoped not

7.45pm

And it was war

Cries

Cars backed up

Gunfire

Makeshift bunkers

Sirens in Europe

After so long

All that we took for granted

All that we might say or change or vote away if we could Apathy now turned to fear

For our sons our daughters

For our futures and for our neighbors and for our friends

11pm and I hold my husband close

11pm and the tears sink down

11pm and my husband is 33

So we would need to hold

For two years

Two years and he’d be protected

From conscription

Or enlisting even

He has a hero’s heart after all

So,

Two years more

And we might be protected from our own not so small grief Unlike those in

Mariupol

Or Odessa

Or Kharkiv

Or-

Only a month before

I was asked to travel to Kiev

For a job

“No thank you”

I declined

Unease

Building then

And I remember nights

Laughing with girlfriends

Dreaming up trips to Moldova

Or other not so far off places

So who’d have thought just a quintet of years later?

We’d be seeing folks

Regular folks

Lovely people

Or not so lovely people

People like you or I

Their smiling faces

Like grieving Annabel

Or Jonny the doctor with the maybe not Teflon pot

Or my cousin Lucy

Or my uncle Dan

Or Oksana

The lady who made jokes with the reporter from CNN Because she didn’t want her children to see,

Didn’t want them to know,

That she was afraid.

These types of people

Kind

And bald

And fat

And tall

With tender hearts

Piling into cars

Packing their families

And picture frames

And Teflon pots

And transportable memories

And driving away from their lives

To boarders

Not so far from home

Not so far from here

In the end we all pray

In the end we all just ask for more time

And so I lay down my small grief

Thankful that today I do not have to hide

That I do not have to hide my fear from my children

That I do not have to hide from those that are carried or even, miscarried.

In the end we all ask for more time

More life

More love

Please

More time

Wednesday, February 23rd 2022

The day that peace died.