when grandfather typed
the strike of the j on paper
always left a blur, a shadow
the way your name does when said aloud.
yours, the silent name
a thought word so seldom given breath
that it forms wholly between the lips
and impacts the air more heavily
than those that surround it.
it has not lost its surety
in that way of other words,
their syllables plundered and meaning flayed
by their casual incursions
but that’s because it’s without you.
your name, needing you to fill out its sides
and bring it music. Your name,
never thrown into a room or field,
never curled by a smile,
weighs far more without you.
Stillborn (never the interlocutor)
1 November 2012