Cemetery

This place, of quiet mourning

it always makes me cry,

I visit their graves,

alone, two bodies lie.

Across the lines of stone

a couple silently

remove rabbit eaten flowers.

My Sister says hairspray deters them

I guess that’s some comfort in the dark hours.

I thought you wanted to be freer Dad?

A restless soul, at home on the sea

now all I see is decay

in a box, under ground.

I light a candle in the room you died Mum,

and watch the light across Eastern faces

and I think of a culture burning incense

so smoke can reach spiritual places

of ancestors to keep them whole.

Memory

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You were a rough-and-tumble play mate:

-a sea foam tussle

-a rock pool wonder.

Sand stretched farther than I could run

with a bucket bouncing on salt stung ankles

and a spade to build empires of lakes and castles.

You were a sunshine “Hello!”

With a teasing smile of hidden secrets.

Some things should stay behind glass.

Now the sand is muddy brown

and a gritstone sky clogs the tiny beach.

I’m wearing my Mother’s jumper,

knitted tight with clinging love.

Dad is too arthritic to reach the sea.

Some things should stay behind glass.

Train

I hate to pull the shade

blocking out the sun, 

and the framed green smudge of fields.  

Movement is stifled and close 

in this metal canister of strangers,

a hurtling theatre of separation.

I thank the inventor of headphones

in my travelling world of 

punctuated connection 

and dwindling battery.