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.




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.