POETRY | And now, peace

6:02am, a mist grey pre-dawn in England.

I am in the house of a friend on the other side of the world. The English sun isn't up yet, not quite, and the blinds are drawn when the phone rings. In our family, this call, lovingly, always begins the same: "A bit of sad news..."

I remember when your dear wife passed, friend, and how the news of you has also come now at the break of a new day in a world you are no longer in. Salt falls quietly, across temple into curve of ear, disappearing into my hair. All my hope is that your grief can't touch you anymore where you are now.

For you, R.G.

May your rest be full of grace, and the faces of all you loved most be the first rays of heaven you saw.

Begin, if you must, with the bees.

Tell them I knew that

the great sweetness was never

without sting,

but I had none of me left to bruise anew;

I could not stay.

Make tea in the cups that

once were kind to my mouth,

long after I have spoke for the last;

pour the milk with date beyond mine

and stir knowing

I had long since lost the words

that would have stayed fast

these hands,

these feet, for longer

from the long and winding stairs

that lead

from harm

to head

to heart

to heaven.

Stop neither, your clocks for me,

tender ones,

nor mark your hours with doubt.

No more the burden to be heavy or light,

a dawn soft rejoicing

now releases my breath -

indeed my carrying days are done.

You who remain,

Remember me in the calling out of

neon Pharisees,

and in the kindness to neighbours all.

Rebuke the compassion dulled judges

with robe and gavel - who

haunt halls of a grace

they preach

yet go into the gravel stone world,

without the care of the Great Carpenter

in their grasp -

and remember the poor in spirit,

for it is we who saw God while we lived,

in your good and lovely face.

Perhaps.

Perhaps these breakings will teach them love,

and better things to do with stones,

would all hearts be those

attuned to diviner things.

But aye, the long day is at its close;

And friend, I must take my leave.

This beloved thread of us -

in parting, yet see I carry it forward

into eternity to tether, golden,

and bring all we have meant

to the anchor and feet of the universe,

at the hilt of Heavens

which long have held my loves

and now, by God, hold me.

Body to earthen bed,

dust to dust returned, let what tears

may water the ground beside

what of me I must leave behind,

be shed as Galilee’s Son wept:

as cognisant of holy cost

as coming joy.

Love me and lament, but sweet -

linger not here for long;

for this life is brief and forever wide.

Exist not in grief, but live,

live as a wire breathing

illumination in the night,

your heart be tried and found true.

I know, friend.

But Son and sun know when the time is right.

Come,

I will meet you in the garden.

                                      © Erin Brown 2025