Today the world has slightly shifted,
Been narrowly knocked from its usual axis.
The house displays your radiant colours:
Your coffee table books and cookware,
Folders arranged by family name,
And research papers by the ream.
But something’s off…
The kettle’s twisted, out of kilter,
Handle reaching to the right.
The clock beside the bed is dull,
No time, it says, the world stands still,
And while we wait, the mist has come
Meaning all is here and us and now.
I’m not ready for your folders
Yet, your summaries of our lives,
Lying along the bottom shelf.
Tomorrow maybe, if it comes?

After Mum’s death yesterday, everything is slightly surreal and different.
(01.11.16)

© Ben Quant 2026