Right now I don’t wear mourning black
because as I told the kids before the funeral,
Grandpa loved the bright colours of gardens
and flowers in the sunshine,
so dress for him.
But I do wear around my neck
a black necklace studded with tiny stars
—piece of night sky stolen by faeries—
to remind myself in all dark moments
to seek the sparkle.
It’s not a bright, dawn-rosy piece of Heaven
but a scrap of far-off night sky,
piercingly cold and beautiful,
the kind you look up at in silence
longing for the things that do not perish.
My heart thumps near my necklace,
aching to burst forth from my chest
and reach this forever with you,
beating its warm little drum
to the echoes of eternity.