Longitude

Jackie Kay

And though we share the same time
and we sleep and wake in unison
you are further away, in my dark mind;
odd times, I glimpse you walking
along the red dust road,
same age as me, same hands, feet, toes.
I anticipate where you are by
the light of the half moon in our sky,
but there is no starting position,
something else will have to be chosen.
When I look in the mirror
I don’t see a foreign face,
no Heart of Darkness,
but you, who were with me all along,
walking that road not taken,
slowly, enjoying the elephant grasses,
holding my hand: two young lassies,
the breeze on our light-dark faces.

Published in The Guardian

 

Snow

Carol Ann Duffy

Then all the dead opened their cold palms
and released the snow; slow, slant, silent,
a huge unsaying, it fell, torn language; settled,
the world to be locked, local; unseen,
fervent earthbound bees around a queen.
The river grimaced and was ice.

Go nowhere-
thought the dead, using the snow-
but where you are, offering the flower of your breath
to the white garden, or seeds to birds
from your living hand. You cannot leave.
Tighter and tighter, the beautiful snow
holds the land in its fierce embrace.
It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier.
Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now
with the gift of your left life?

Originally published in The Guardian