For Grant - my online friend

I learned this week that a dear friend has died. Our friendship existed almost solely in online spaces but he was an important person in my life for a while. I’ve written more about the difficulties of grieving for an online friend in a blog that will be shared on The Huffington Post later in the summer but, for now, a poem.

For Grant – my online friend

There are no seeds planted in the allotment you waited for,

that you cleared until your hands were raw.

‘I feel so good,’ you said to me as you piled the dead wood

onto the bonfire and watched the past burn.

We followed your public journey, curated squares of life,

a representation of the passing of time –

the fresh shoots, new work shoes, canal boat dreams,

the hopeful words at the turning of the year.

I never feared that you would not be here

to record the unfurling of this year’s blossom,

the blooming of summer roses,

the tomatoes, once again bearing fruit.

There will be no more bike rides to the sea,

no shots of oiled wheels and tightened brakes.

No photographs of road sign warnings –

reading ‘drive with care,’ and ‘keep safe’.

Your last public share was of a coastal expanse.

Should we have read the signs there too?

‘Beware of fast tides, hidden channels and quick sands.’

Were you off course already, in danger then of slipping away?

Behind the scenes we two shared stories and wordplay –

words of potential lovers then Words with Friends.

Two characters sharing a sub plot that never

found an audience or reached a satisfactory end.

A story played out on WhatsApp and Scrabble boards

until you ran out of letters. It was your move GB.

You left me hanging midway through a game,

left loose threads and plot holes in unfinished lives.

The boat breaks free from its mooring now

as the allotment grows over

with no-one there to tend the soil.

I will miss you and your words, my friend.