To Sleep

I came home with your prescription
to find you amending your address book,
and that you’d written out in rough
and then in neat the few things,
not to ask too much,
you would like us to do.

Two pieces of music,
for when I come in,
and when I go out,
Not! the Lord
of the Dance version,
a Humanist to lead,
you’ll be able
to find one,
there are lots about
these days,

and No! to my enquiry
if you’d like a hymn,
who once attended church
wherever in the world you were.
Somewhere about the time of the book
you started to become honest to God.

My ashes
to be with my father
and Rose,
but please a small
portion to go
to my mother’s
grave in Calcutta,
where she lies
in ground I own,
that will be yours.

I realised then you knew
that only once you’d gone
would you be able to do the impossible
and sleep, in two places at once,
with friends, who used to write
from places you’ve crossed out.

Chris Hardy

If you have any comments on this poem,  Chris Hardy would be pleased to hear from you.