Too Close for Comfort

Miles Away

by Carol Ann Duffy

I want you and you are not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing the colour thought is
before language into still air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again
and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight
I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer
than the words I have you say you said before.

Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me
with a look, standing here whilst cool late light
dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,
into memory. The stars are filming us for no one.

Too Close for Comfort

I want you gone and you are here. I delay
in this bathroom, purging the pigment pain is
before expression onto cream tiles. Even your snarl
is a bold outline and though I bleach it over
and over, I will forget no more. Tonight
I erase you, your memory more piercing
than the ideal I have you step into- you never were.


However far you are now, inside my head you fix me
with a glare, laying here, whilst humid sweat
diffuses into the drapes. I have got your rage right
and still it simmers. I distance myself from you,
inventing love, until the sound of silence
embraces and lulls what was fragile, was broken
to the unconscious. The round moon has been gnawed at.