Twilight by Romalyn Ante


For every hand I held, for every laboured breath,

there will be a pearl of barrier cream

bestowed on each vertebra of an old man’s spine

I will think of my grandfather – half way

across the world – his face to a window,

curtains billowing with scents of ylang-ylang.

For every bell that shakes this treatment room,

for all the slices of ambulance lights

darting like the kingfishers of my town,

there will be a home to return to – I will lift

a cut of tsaá from the countertop, and look back

to find the garden lawn has grown waist-high.

For every comrade who runs to my side

as we surround the sandstone of a man’s chest,

resuscitate the Rosetta of his heart, and blow

scraps of life into his mouth, and for every sting

of a flat-line that trails us anywhere we turn, 

there will be a hallway pixelating with light –

it will lead us outside where we can pull away

these beaten, surgical masks, where we can soak

in the surge of eastern breeze, the tanzanite bruise

of twilight will expose a star-flecked sky,

and one day they will mean more

than just a tally of losses.

I absolutely loved this poem and have since bought the book (mentioned above).

Author: Janet Carr

Fashion, beauty and animal loving language consultant from South Africa living in Stockholm, Sweden.

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