After I’d Be Yours
We’re in the year of the crossroad where
we’d miss our turn, rushing to our next appointment.
The two of us in each others arms,
pink in the face, giggling to the sky.
Your glitter-red shoes squeak with every step. Garland.
You’re not here now. The thought of you needn’t occur
in the cottage with the hushed whispers, the serene, photo-reel today
the amble here could bring. I know you would bound
straight through. After I’d be yours, I’d dash to-and fro
scrambling for the next, something . Do you reckon it’s worth it?
These years of quiet, free exploration are the best ones, hey?
You’d discover your voice in this echoing hall, boundless,
but now my spirit clamours toward you, peering through mists,
until I make us out, obscured but there, sat on the path
your bottom lip jutted, why do you cry there too, my love?
Go go go! You’d pull me back to the crossroads, then
lurching onward in another direction. Would you
know the tranquillity of the waltz I dance, somewhere
a long way from home? That untroubled love lasting
when you giggle, and glitter, and yell after I’d be yours.
A response to Before You Were Mine by Carol Ann Duffy.
