Kay Boon

For a dear friend

In her face, I see myself

Three years ago.

I am ahead of her

On that scale of grief.

If you listen to science

The scale is predictable,

As if this might soften the blows

That strike, again, and again.

We are told what to expect.

She turns her face from the truth

As if to evade the slaps

That come with callous speed,

With unexpected ferocity.

We were warned but still they hurt.

In her blank, bewildered eyes,

She wants to crawl away, to hide.

Yet there is no escape.

I might tell her science is right.

But I see myself in her eyes.



I sit on a bench between two strangers.

We are the waiting weary.

I wonder if I am taking up space that an older person might occupy.

Then I realise I am that older person, by at least 25 years.

I have earned this repose.

This is rightfully my space.

I breathe.



I have this minute completed an online survey — never mind who or what it was for.

When it came to a question about the language I speak at home, the options were “English” and “other”.

I opted for “Other”, and wrote “Dog, I speak dog at home.”

I wonder if anyone will notice?



Yon Dog curled into her own ball

Right now,
Curling into a ball
Would be good
If for no other reason
Than I don’t want to
Face the world
On my own.

There are those
Who’d stand with me
Facing those demons
Shoulder to my shoulder
Over coffee
If I would only ask.

And there are those
Who face the world alone
Fighting their demons
Square in the face,
Chins raised,
Eyes steady,

As I, too, have done
And will do again, alone.
But not this minute.
Right now, I just want
To curl into a small ball
And hide.



Kay Boon

Kay Boon

Stories to tell, experiences to be had, roads to travel, words to shared, pictures to take, life to live.