Dear you…
by Frances Summers
The time is approaching dear you,
And dreams of our separation rise in
My mind and stay with me the whole day long,
Of you running away from me through the crowds
Of women or terrorists, depending
On what my subconscious allows. Your hair
Freshly cut, your eyes heavy with meaning,
Avoiding mine, to avoid raw feelings.
Dear you…
We shun the thought happily for weeks and weeks
But grudgingly comes the day where you have to leave.
We pack up the car, your belongings and us
Drive you onto camp and watch you unload. The boys
Handsome dressed in uniform, glumly lugging kit,
Low sound, only the footsteps along the path.
My lips hold back the agony I feel within,
Of our separation, of your life that lies
In the hands of you and the Taliban that
Wish to fight. I try not to think.
Dear you…
Kissing goodbye to our children in the backseat,
Happily bickering with one another
Deciding who would gain daddy’s seat in his absence.
You tell them through a cheerless smile, ‘Be good
For Mummy and I’ll phone you soon to let you know
What the spiders are like that creep through the desert sun’
‘We’ll miss you Daddy’ they chirp together.
Dear you…
It’s my turn.
Out of the car, I throw my arms around your neck,
My face shoved into your deep, dark chest. The musty
Smell of your uniform, starch, hard, but to me
Like feathers. Your arms hold me tight, chest threatening
To erupt. But then try to kiss me and I hide
My face. All wet. The sadness has finally escaped.
Dear you…
Lifting up my face, you kiss my wet lips, then
Turn and walk away; neither of us looks back.
My body is taken over by massive heaves,
Driving back home, struggling to see through eyes
Water logged. The kids’ hair wild, forever smiles,
Happily singing their nursery rhymes.
The recurring thought that kept stealing my notice was
I hope dear you, you come back…