February 2, 2023

Parapraxis

Writer's Showcase

The Day Has Come

4 min read

Some years ago,whilst driving to Cahors, my wife and I encountered the site of a dreadful accident where the emergency services had only just arrived.  I was haunted throughout the remains of the day by that tragedy; thinking often about those who were left waiting at home, and how such an event alters so many lives for ever. This poem was my attempt to create a written version of what my imagination was creating in my mind.

—o—

Today is the day. So it is written:

 

Today the breeze and the sunlight

will frivolously play;

Teasing lonely leaves on trees –

making them appear

just like butterflies,

trapped by their legs;

veined wings flickering sunlit greens,

fluttering desperately to be released;

They sense it is the time.

 

This day will start as normal:

The morning mist will tumble –

invisibly –

up the valley,

camouflaged by the darkness,

preparing itself for its dawn roll… to be seen.

The owls will cease their calling, and turn their minds instead

to daydreams;

Amid the rustling trees their gentle breath is lost.

 

And as the day is woken,

as the black is broken,

and the shades of grey bring up the lights to show the misty scene,

across the way,

behind stone walls,

technology blinks and shrieks a morning call.

 

It is started.

 

There will be the usual waking…

in subdued, unwelcome light…

Feet will touch chilly tiles upon the floor.

Night, will be… no more.

He will slouch unwillingly towards the bathroom door;

Water, hot, into a bowl will pour,

and squinting, fiercely, he will see,

in the steamed up mirror,

his aging face, bleary eyed and bloated. More.

He will shave hairs from his chin, and will feel the final frisson

of last night’s passion, of last night’s ration of her.

The memory will make him smile –

maybe inside, or maybe out, that is unwritten.

 

The clock moves on.

 

She will slip silk over her scanty nightgown,

and start her woman’s day.

He will come into the kitchen and drink her coffee and eat her toast.

She will look at him across the table,

and will not see the fresh, tell-tale, facial lines.

Nor see or touch the small patch of un-shaved stubble

just to the side of his neck, beneath his chin,

where his life pulse pips –

up and down –

like a ticking clock.

She will watch him read his notes and plan his route,

and the kids will shout, and the kids will hoot – around him –

As they do.

But amid the usual cacophony that is the day’s overture,

she will smile at him. He will not see the smile.

She will know that, even before the creases ripple upwards

from the edge of her lips, and her eyes sparkle with the memory

of what was passed between them in the night.

 

Now, time is passing.

 

He will kiss the kids, one by one.

Small pecks upon pink cheeks

as in ancient order they file past –

leaving to catch their morning bus to school.

Then he will turn to her and say goodbye.

On this day,

fortuitously,

innocently,

his kiss for her will be more ardent;

will be more longer lasting.

She will think she knows the reason why, but she will not.

 

A woman’s work is never done.

 

He will climb into his white company car –

with the red company logo on the door –

She will call for him to remember, when in Cahors…

Her pink list. Written neatly it will implore

that he bring home the bread,

the cheese, the wine, his laughter, and his love.

He will tuck the note that ended “Je t’adore”

into his open pocket.

She will stand looking after him until his car blends with the

lightening mist, and becomes totally indistinguishable.

 

Divine intervention.

 

Her thoughts will pass from stitch to stitch, tucking in, straightening

white sheets on the marital bed –

where sweet things were said,

where passionate moments sped,

white seeds bled.

 

And he?

 

As the moment decreed approaches,

racing past some foreign coaches,

he will not see

that his time draws near.

 

The kids will swing upon low branches,

and she will go about her day,

While on the hard and grey stone chips

a white car slips,

and slides from here to there unguided.

There will of course be the dreadful sound –

the metallic clack and thud,

spilled blood,

the awful screech of tyres and brakes,

ticking, slowing, spinning wheels,

and a hiss.

 

Drip… drip… time is dripping away.

 

The breeze will play its last and cruel trick,

blowing the small pink note into the grassy field beside the road.

 

And the sunlight?

 

It will glisten on the blood red spill.

But there will be silence. Still,

at least the medic will see and feel,

the small patch of stubble on his neck,

and it will be still and cool beneath his finger tip.

Whilst down his cheek a tear will slip –

and be quickly wiped away.

 

For this was the day.

 

© Griffonner 2021,2022

 

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7 thoughts on “The Day Has Come

    1. For me it is a most powerful memory, too. And to think: These kind of things happen every second of every day, and we are oblivious to their consequences or their moments. Makes you realise how insignificant we are to the unfolding story of life on Earth.

  1. What a way to express the circumstances of life and how things happen in our daily lives and they can alter our lives forever. “The Day Has Come” is suvh a powerful poem well written and thought provoking. I have kearned that cherish each moment with your loved ones because you may never know when will be the last time.

    1. Hi, Kiula.
      Thank you for reading ‘The Day Has Come’ – I appreciate even more because I know that it is a lengthy poem. Your comments are very much appreciated.
      Indeed, we never know when that moment might come, and the best way of dealing with that fact is to be the best person you can to those loved ones who will eventually be left behind, as you say.
      I wish you a happy, healthy, prosperous, and rewarding life.
      Allen

  2. This reminds me of the last day with my father, normal day passing, had lunch with him and spent an hour and then he left the house for some work and unfortunately never came back. Life is very unpredictable, I didn’t have thought even in the back of my mind that this could be the last time talking to him, I still feel that pain of not stopping him. Great imagination though Allen, it is not common, the imagining power you have is special.

  3. You managed to paint a beautiful picture about one of life’s hardest things to deal with. Life can be so tragic, unexpected, and such terrible things can happen in the blink of an eye. I think we all know someone who has been through this, either in an accident or witnessing one. Most people don’t stop and reflect on it but others, it becomes a part of them. I have had that happen to me too.

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