Sky Talk Poem by Diana van den Berg

Frazzled by
watching out
for afterwork drivers
who feel the law does not apply
to them, I catch
a corner
of your cloud messages
emblazoned
on my rearview mirror...

and

... your instant magic
drops my shoulders
and eases my face
into a Flicka smile
and suddenly
I have all the time in the world
to get home
and I welcome red robots
so I can take my eyes
off the road
to read every word of your love
splashed across the Heavens
and wrapping me
in a cosy cocoon -
and I feel the joys of the day
blending into our love
and I am in your stable again
sitting on the side of your manger
talking with you as we always did,
about this and that,
like what “succulent” grass means,
and how the rotation of the Earth on its axis
causes day and night,
and the revolution of the Earth around the sun
causes the seasons, of which Winter
made you need your blanket
(it is still on my bed next to me
bunched into a blue circle
symbolising our never-ending bond)
or walking with you
while Honeycat accompanies us,
or riding you
in the ecstasy
of our oneness...

... and in my car
I whisper
my thanks
to you
and discuss my delight
at every word of each cloud message,
hardly moving my lips
(so that the drivers
wondering who I am smiling at,
don’t see me talking too!)
and there
in front of me,
and on either side,
and the bits that I can see above,
echo the messages
in my rearview mirror,

some gold-edged magnificent,

some rounded and rose-warm
embracing my heart,

some wispy threads galloping
across the wide African sky
in delighted abandon,

(and, oh, my darling horse,
that quiver-breath-reminds me of you
when you led your friends around the field
like a noble mustang celebrating
power and speed and freedom -
when I went down to the stables
from the office at lunch time – remember?
and a tear hides behind my smile
and my conversation with you
in Gretta, my Jetta,
whom you, of course, don’t know
except from Heaven
- my heart broke when I had to say goodbye
to Samantha, my Datsun Pulsar,
especially because she was the car you knew) .

Remember too, how, after Gilbert went to Heaven,
(three months and fifteen days before you,
all those eight years ago
that seem like yesterday)
we used to cry our hearts raw,
while I walked you, often with your Honeycat in tow,
and how we would take solace
in the exquisite cloud messages Gilbert sent us
especially in the late afternoon sky?

Perhaps that is what gave you the idea
to send me your messages in the clouds
and the sun and the moon
and the whispers of the wind
and the joyous bird calls
of my garden forest.
Perhaps it was because you knew
how much Gilbert’s sky talk meant to us.
Perhaps it was because you knew
I would understand your messages
because you knew I understood Gilbert’s.
Perhaps it was to honour Gilbert
who is with you in Heaven now.
Perhaps Gilbert helped you
with your first messages.
Perhaps, and I believe this is so,
he is sending messages to me along with yours.
I am sure God has a hand in helping you both.
Please thank Him for me, and thank Gilbert too.

Do you remember how I used to tell you
how the hugs I gave
your beautiful warm neck
and the kisses I gave you muzzle
and face
and neck
and mane
and the nuzzlings you gave me
would stay with me
– I could feel them physically -
the whole long drive home
every day
warming my heart
and making smile
and rejoice in our communication?
Well, that is how your sky messages
make me feel,
very especially the ones of late.

You know how much I need
our daily conversations
and you never fail me
not even from Heaven,
as you never failed me,
not ever, not once,
in the 20½ years we were together.

How ever, ever, ever can I thank you,
my darling, darling horse?

10 June 2009