St Pancras Station then was not a pleasurable place
of grand departures, a destination in itself,
just somewhere that East Midlanders
must go to catch a packed train home.
She was already at the table, facing the engine,
folder of papers at the ready for the journey
as he sat down opposite.
The seats filled up and they set off.
And at that prompt the tears began to flow.
She didn’t try to wipe them,
he didn’t say a word.
Nobody offered a handkerchief.
But still the silent tears rolled down without a stop
collecting on her collar
for the full ninety minutes of the journey,
as if she wept the memory of all griefs:
the tide held back at the hospital
held back at the funeral,
held back as the small white coffin hit the earth
but loosened now before the eyes of strangers.
Until there came the merciful last station
and she gathered up the unopened folder.
When her husband met her at the barrier,
K’s eyes were dry
then and forever after.
This poem is reprinted with the poet’s permission from her collection Slantwise History (Vole Books,
Guildford 2024).
Vole books are an imprint of Dempsey and Windle, 15 Rosetrees, Guildford, Surrey GU1 2HS
(Telephone 01483 571164).