When I looked into your eyes, I now confess –
although aloud I asked, “Are they green, brown, hazel, blue?” –
for a second, I thought of another woman.
Who is this second woman?
Who?
Is it the girl then the woman who
because of fear,
I loved from afar, but never dared to draw near?
The shiny haired girl from class
Gillian and then Elizabeth?
I never spoke to her.
I was not like Jonathan, so brave and arrogant.
So then, did I see Hattie who I loved so far
beyond any rational measure?
Like yours, her eyes sparkled, like treasure, in play.
Bereft upon each homeward journey,
for ten full years,
when I was a child with no means, no tools and no verse.
And Helen loved me not a jot!
It was not of her that I thought,
Even though on that mast
I wilfully tore a freshly adult heart.
So by then, fearing pain I turned away, for safety
from all of Charlotte’s grace.
True, there was something like this in her face.
Now, in this second, I see this woman I have loved but never held.
Let’s call her Hazel.
Hazel is my idea, my life’s silent longing.
An absence, an ache, she is self-inlaid with artistry and care.
And yet instead of absence,
I feel in my hand,
your hair.
My lips close on yours, and when,
in a second, I open my eyes
I see her real, alive and smiling there.
