The Chemical Life
(for Belinda, 1953-2023)
Each day we practise a kind of magic,
trying to make today resemble
yesterday. I wake up when the light
starts to spill across our bed,
check on you. Your mouth is usually
half-open, your chest rises and
falls, rises and falls. I creep out,
make coffee, do Wordle and the puzzles,
check on you, your chest rises and
falls, rises and falls. I have a shower,
put on a small variety of the same clothes –
jeans, Pink Floyd t-shirt, blue or black jersey.
At some point you appear in the kitchen,
looking a little dazed, swallow pills
with orange juice, begin another day
of the chemical life. Sometimes
you have a boiled egg or tomatoes
on toast before you lie down again,
and I join you and read another chapter
of The Small House at Allington.
And so the hours slowly unwind.
Perhaps a friend visits or a nurse
from the hospice, and you summon
a spurt of conversation. At some point
after further lie-downs and checks
you climb up the steps with a stick,
count the bees among the lemon trees
and the white roses, pause at the top
to stare at Somes Island where ‘enemy
aliens’ were interned in both world wars,
before slowly, carefully, you descend.
Later, courtesy of friends, there’s a meal
which you pick at during the news,
an episode of Seinfeld, then some serial,
next your shower, more pills, another chapter.
Each day we practise a kind of magic.
Belinda Ricketts – dearly loved wife of Harry Ricketts, loved mother of Tom Cullinan, loved grandmother of Casey and Theo Cullinan – passed away peacefully on December 17, 2023, aged 70.
