In Memoriam Edith Dorothy White (Dodo)
16 October 1909 - 1 July 1977
Thirty nine roses for thirty-nine summers.
The first summer started late;
The last one was broken...
When we knew you had only five months -
Or was it six or seven? - to live,
How the days went scurrying by!
No one could tell what the next day would bring.
When I saw you look in the mirror,
I wondered if you were thinking
Is this the last time I shall look
In this mirror to do my hair
And renew my make-up?
When I saw you climb with increasing difficulty
The stairs from the hall to the floor above,
I wondered if you were thinking
Is this the last time I shall have strength enough
To climb this staircase to go to bed?
When I sat by your bedside and saw
Your eyes open and recognise me,
I wondered if you were thinking
Is this the last time I shall see his features?
But I tried to conceal these thoughts from you
Lest my eyes betray me;
And when the moment came,
It was Sarah who saw you for the last time still alive.
And I who saw you for the first time dead.
I remember how courageously
You fought with the dark angel during those last weeks -
How beneath the sheet your limbs thrashed out,
Trying to ward off the incarcerating mesh
Of the iron maiden of cancer.
It was as if under the implacable glare of ringside lights
Your agony was featured
In a canvas by Francis Bacon.
Who that saw them can forget your agonies? -
The agony of being shifted on to a new pile of pillows:
The agony of the new position:
The agony of the parched tongue;
The agonies from which there seemed to be
No deliverance except through drugs.
And yet there were still occasions when you found
The right touch at the right moment 'marvellous.'
You always hated the voyeur;
But this succession of agonies
I found I could not keep away from your bedroom;
I could not, not look at what was happening.
But so as not to disturb you with my glance
I would stand outside the room
And peep through the crack between door and jamb.
Forgive me!
How far have you travelled
Since I entered your bedroom a short while ago
And saw you had just died?
The shadow of this eclipse had already spread over your features.
And your skin had the beauty of a waxen mask.
My thought was that you had stopped
While Sarah and I continued to live.
While you were bound on an unknown voyage
Towards an uncharted goal.
...The petals from the thirty-ninth rose
Have fallen upon your shroud;
And now the long loneliness begins.
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