C.J. ('Jonty') Driver

The one who should have been the first,

My mother lost at thirteen weeks.

My parents saved his name for me

And one there sleeps, and one here wakes.

I wonder what he might have been

Since what I am would not exist.

What little gap there seems to be

Between my body and the dust.

So when I'm dead (as dead as him)

Will I then seem as never born?

A shadow lost when lights went out?

A matchhead struck which didn't burn?

Abundance thrives despite our loss:

The glass reflects, the glass refracts -

My brother's flesh and my own self

Still suppositions more than facts.

(first published in the TLS, 29/5/09)