23 OCTOBER 1964, Page 21

Mourning

We sat in the kitchen and listened to the rain That spluttered on the pane like something frying; The silence simmered, but we did not season it; We had mislaid effective flavouring.

Each of us knew that the other's heart was tight, Swollen and taut, like something over-ripe; We were not joined in grief nor dignified; Neither of us spilt a drop of salty water. I do not know how long we stayed like that, Two hours, at least, for the room was growing dark When one of us rose and switched on the light. Chairs groaned and sighed, and then at last she spoke.

We had to decide what to eat that night.

VERNON SCANNELL