Eulogy underneath the extractor fan

by Ruby Dunn

Immo Wegmann

For Catherine T

AND THE KITCHEN IS FOR ROMANCE // AND

even after everything, I find my muscle memory still betrays me; That half-beat breath before I let the gate swing to, because in that moment I still half expect to wait for you. How long must we keep loving the old things that we know? Five years gone, since I left my parents’ house - and I can still take the stairs two at a time when the lights are off, because they used to be mine. Just like I’ve learned to pause by the front door, when I reach the steps, exhale, lean back and hang in that sacred moment. So, how long do I have to wait until my back doesn’t arch round space your hands should fill? If emptiness can hold so much of loss, why couldn’t I hold you a little longer? Picture this: you stayed, you let me make the tea, we talked it through. Picture this: I was enough for you. I picture it — the space is empty still. If it had lasted, time might have split in two: Before and After Us. Time did not split. We are after us. After lasts long and this is it. So still the broken gas fire throws out heat, and while the flame fades blue I wait for Spring. I’m cooking pasta on our old, slow stove, and I look up through steam, to meet your not-there eyes.

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Ruby Dunn is a history student currently at university in Scotland. Her degree, the Scottish landscape and her faith prompt her to explore through poetry the world she has been welcomed into. She has had several poems published in St. Art Journal, and one upcoming for publication in the Soor Ploom Press 2022 Anthology. As a writer, she is never sure if she’s emerging or retiring, but she’s usually just glad to be involved.