‘After Adlestrop (for Helen Thomas)’ by Valerie Bence – Primers Shortlist 2018

As usual, it is not widely known that you were there beside him
in that carriage, at that station, suffused in sunlight and birdsong
when someone cleared their throat as no-one left and no-one came.

As usual, you are invisible — the hidden framework, an underpinning
without which he would crumble, diminished by disappointment.
You understood the only way to keep him was to let him walk, write, talk, fight.

As usual, such love is forgotten, until on this day his words in your voice
crackle out of the radio. All I can think of is Edward, on that last night
wrapping you in his khaki greatcoat carrying you to bed.

In the colourless, muffled morning the children walk him to the station;
you stand at the gate calling Coo-ee Coo-ee  to each other until he disappears
in mist and snow, leaving you panicked in  the silence of death.

I too loved a silent man and only now remember
moments when you think nothing is happening — but so much is.