One Step at a Time.

Blue aubretia, from terrace to terrace

tumbling downhill like a fallen sky,

that is what folk walking past, notice

as they look up at the houses high above them.

But Ada, back from the Friday market,

bags shopping-full, sees only the endless steps

reaching up into the dizzying sky.



She will pause, then, both bags in her left hand

will grasp the rail with her right and begin

the ascent, saying softly to herself,

“One step at a time, gal. One – step – at – a – time.”



When, finally, she collapses, gasping

before the window of her bright front room,

she knows why he bought the house, so long ago.

'How many counties can you see , Jack, love?'

and, 'Are those really the Welsh mountains?'

pointing at black, distant shadows.



So why did he leave her alone so early,

in such a place? She sees him again, now,

halfway to his beloved hilltop haven,

flop like a carelessly dropped bundle,

And she, leaping down, step after step,

screaming, 'No, no, no! Jack, Jack, oh Jack!'



And now the endless weeks; Friday by Friday

the grim ascent to the empty house.

“One step at a time, gal. One – step – at – a – time.”



She who had always, only, longed to have

that little , two-bedroomed semi-detached,

on the tidy estate on level ground,

with a view of next door's tidy garden:



Not this terrifying, cloud-strewn, blue emptiness.  







Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved