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Cliff Ashcroft

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Wants 'and ministered unto him' - Mark 15.41

As soon as I received that terse message
I came to your house and the room you maintained
for our small intimacies and sleep.
Your greeting was warm and our embrace long.
I knew that something was wrong.

You said your home was now to be mine,
all rare items of expense to be sold,
the servants informed of a change in authority.
These clothes must all be given away
and your land returned to its deserving tenants.

I did not know what had happened to you,
but from the excitement of those hurried lists,
your eyes now strange, focussed at mid-distance
at some greeting or reunion I dare not question
I saw our friendship was over.

I tried to dissuade you from the coming discomfort.
Poverty, I said, is banal and bitter,
you would callous the palms of the hands I treasured,
you would waste the turn of your skilful feet.
But I was speaking now to a foreign ear.

You wrapped your arms in a travelling cloak
and gave up the provisions I had carefully stocked.
You left me for company I could not join,
and I was at loss and slept on your pillow
for the scent of you about my dream,

and I washed my hands and feet in your bowls,
put on your gowns, your shoes and rings,
wishing to slip inside your ghost,
at rest upon your familiar chair,
waiting for news like a mourner.

Page(s) 9-10

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