So many ways <br />Within the dandelion-blown passages of time <br />Of not knowing <br /> <br />Her face <br />Buried against the innocent <br />Peach-blossomed cheeks of <br />her daughter sleeping <br /> <br />He leaves at seven-forty <br />Freshly suited <br />With briefcase, laptop <br />and mobile phone <br /> <br />Housework and talkback <br />Somewhere the faint cadences <br />of Puccini are lingering <br /> <br />She composes lists for him, for her, <br />to do, to buy, to mend; crossed exultantly, <br />Infinite lists <br /> <br />The erroneous, unjustifiable bank statements <br />Must be <br />Symptomatic of her mathematical inadequacy <br /> <br />Her friends <br />Appear faithfully <br />Midday, channel four <br /> <br />Honeyed caramels <br />Liquid sweetfire melting <br />on her tongue <br /> <br />Another hangup <br />The malevolent phone <br />guards its secrets <br /> <br />Halfway through a list <br />She sketches wild irises <br />in a meadow blooming <br /> <br />He returns at six <br />Necktie loosened <br />With briefcase, newspaper <br />And heavy aftershave <br /> <br />Across the table <br />Steam rises from her home-baked bread <br />Like breath in winter <br /> <br />So many ways to know <br />that <br />She never knew<br /><br />Josephine Collett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-knowing-15/
