Letters to Heaven

For my mother's father


3. Slow train through Cornwall

Today I miss you with the nostalgia of a slow train through Cornwall, rumbling over alternative destinations and reverberating into the past. I miss you with that melancholic window watching vigil – the old haunts recalled but never recaptured – station to station. In many ways memories seem to create more dislocation than simple absences do: they alert us to the recent intangibility of things once clasped and how far, therefore, we are from holding hands. 

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