There Was a Gate

There Was a Gate

There was a gate.
I opened it and walked into an other Land
That I had never seen before.
Oranges lay upon the ground beyond your blackened window

It was the strangest room , and yet, I loved it..

A door led out into a tin roofed garage where old boxes lay
And bicycles.

Your bed was Queen, not King.
One lamp ,some books ...
One photograph within a wooden frame
And that was it.
...your shirts hung in the closet.

Two sheets upon the bed ..
...one blue ...one patterned In a 60’s kinda way .

Your head lay on a small hard square
... just like the japanese.
You learned that from your friend
But she had gone and not a trace of her was there...in that small dingy room
Except a buckwheat pillow....and a yellow shirt that hung
Inside the closet.

You wore that shirt to Hollywood that day and told me it was she who’d chosen it
And that ... you liked to wear it.

I gave you one grey candle shaped like an Irish stone
I’m sure you’ve long since burned it and it is no more.

I was a thing that melted and was done
There’s nothing’s left of me
In that room of blocked out sun.

Except what I remember and when I’m gone
It will be as though it never happened
The memory... the room... will disappear
As if it never was

There was a gate. I opened it.
That was the easy part.
The closing is more difficult ...when there is hurt.

Kristine Byrne feb/march 2012