In Meeting

Poem by Kathleen Bell

We sat together in the white-walled room
where no one spoke. God didn’t happen.
I shuffled, stared at the carpet, wanted
a crack in the silence, words, something
to change. The shopping list in my mind
said soap, potatoes, jam, then went askew
adding things that weren’t for sale, or if they were
I couldn’t find them. I listed: a proper home,
a proper job, a bed alone, sufficient cash
to keep my children – that’s when my children
punched through the silence, ruptured still air,
marched through the walls and windows, there
where God didn’t happen and no one spoke.

I sat. We sat, together in silent worlds
and were far apart. I emptied my mind like they said
and recalled how, ages ago, a hand
reached out to stroke my sleeve. Outside, a motorbike
roared for the future. Past glass a robin
ruffled its feathers with song.
A man in the room took a book, let pages murmur.
He closed it again. The silence stopped. That was it
so I didn’t wait. I had work
in a world where bad things happen
and people are torn. Air smelt of petrol. A leaf
twisted. An acorn fell. Perhaps something shifted –
a rhythm adjusting itself. A clock chimed
and a sleeping bag moved. A girl woke in a doorway.
I went on my way.

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