‘In the corridor’, a poem

This poem was first published in Flights.

In the corridor 

I’ve never felt a greater urge
to hug someone than when, 
in response to ‘how is he today?’ 
she stopped, quite still 
under fluorescent light:
‘Our Mum’s been told 
we need to say goodbye.’ 

She stood, uncertain, 
held in place by the air 
that flowed around her, eyes 
as deep and dark and wide 
as eyes have been, above
the stitches picked out, perfect white, 
on the mask we had to wear.

But I couldn’t respond. She
breathed again, and carried 
the weight of her losing away.
And I returned to sit and relate
the news of the world outside—
football, family, politics—
to your unopened, unstill eyes.