I AM WALKING HOME the way I used to walk
When I’d call to tell you about my day,
Or how fast the leaves are growing,
Or the colour of the clouds -
Just to hear your voice.
And you would tell me how you used to live here
And I’d agree,
Even though you didn’t,

Because your voice down the phone
Was so precious,
Even in in its confusion
Even far away.

And now I'm walking home again,
And there are things I want to tell you:
About the birdsong
And the scent of spring blossoms
And how tired I am today,
And the tiny crocuses and the snowdrops -
How much I want to see you

But March is here and you are not.
And I am here but I am not,
Because I have lost an anchor
And find myself adrift.

So tonight I will make schnitzel
That way you showed me;
That way you made it for me.
And it won’t taste as good as yours
(it never does)
But it’s the closet I can be to you.

And yet when that is done I know
That it will still be March
And you will still be gone
And I’ll still be a girl writing poems
To her dead grandmother,
Because there’s no other way to talk to you.