This poem is taken from Stand 228, 18(4) December 2020 - February 2021.

Kerry Hardie Three Poems
And I’m wondering how it has come to this,

when it still feels as though we’re just starting out, and sometime quite soon we may learn what it is we are meant to be doing. And his eyes are very tired and very innocent, a man who is simply worn out by it all, trusting us to be there to say goodbye without saying goodbye, to sit for a while resting briefly inside his great frailty then reverse ourselves out of what’s left of his life, life being that which we carry around with us, each of us living inside it, or maybe it living inside us, tied to the meat-and-bone part of ourselves, which is all that we are except for everything else—everything passionate and raw and belonging to us alone.

We Disassemble That First Home
for my sister

I empty the nest-box that came from her house.
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