'A Dying Race' by Andrew Motion

Another poem from my commonplace book - dated 6th November 2004. I realize now that writing these poems down was an investment of some kind, trusting that they would increase in value with the passage of time - or at least not fluctuate like a bitcoin hidden down a mine. 

 Anyway I cash in another one in hoping it will find value with you.
A DYING RACE

 The less I visit, the more
I think myself back to your house
I grow up in. The lane uncurled 
through candlelit chestnuts
discovers it standing four square,
whitewashed unnaturally clear,
as if it were shown to me by lightning.

 It's always the place I see,
Not you. You're somewhere outside,
waving goodbye where I left you
a decade ago. I've even lost sight
of losing you now; all I can find
are the mossy steps you stood on
- a visible loneliness.

 I'm living four counties away, and still
I think of you driving south east each night
to the ward where your wife is living.
How long will it last?
You've made that journey six years
already, taking each broken off day
as a present, to please her.

 I can remember the fields you pass,
The derelict pill boxes, squatting
in shining plough. If I was still there
watching your hand push back
the hair from her desperate face,
I might have discovered by now
the way love looks, its harrowing clarity.
Andrew Motion








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