June Hall

Filling the Space

Obsession, like death, fills the little space with meaning.

A serious game is in progress, played out with many
friends.
They bluff, I offer memories; I remember, they forget.
They practise the art of subject-change with care while I,

frantic for an antidote to silence, drag in Pip, leaving no
path
except from the grave. Only I want facts about stillbirth.
My newspaper hides a wall of deaf-dumb blindness built
on fear.

Intimacy is created with pictures. I deep-breathe resistance
into the efforts of all who won’t permit my son his name or let
his frail doll-body live – just for now – through fading
Polaroids.

Reality, like the butterfly in a glass case, is best pinned
gently.
I want them to know Pip – his life, long bones, dark beauty,
His broken frame and the quiet withdrawal of his dying.

If I could only lean kindly from my longing I’d make more
space
in which to cradle my certainty of him, the truth of his being
when sympathy wilts; images weaken; witnesses forget.

Her love of poetry led June Hall to Faber where she began her career as a reluctant Girl Friday. Two life blows took her in new directions – the stillbirth of her first son and being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease – and got her writing herself. With two children now at university, June lives in Bath with her husband. Her poems have appeared in various poetry magazines. She has published three collections of poetry.

June can be heard and seen
reading another poem  about
Pip at

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1NY7pt0Pt669xd8ivmNaq6KPcAQxWfH6E