September Poem

It would have been my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary today.

September 4th (someone’s wedding anniversary)
The graveyard has no heart or history                       a terrible now
of poor hours              of sidelined souls.
I am frantic with disquiet and sudden memory                     dreaming
of him              younger           his eye falling on other flowers
pink poppies                all new                        amid the dying and dust
behind the storms laying their backs to the living, the frown of the living
creases of sadness and despair.         Does it matter
my fingers are an absence?
when the graveyard still breathes, gentle as a blind hand                when
its language is lost                  when its weddings are farewells.

Throats Full of Graves
Throats Full of Graves




From ‘Throats Full of Graves’ (Lapwing Publications, 2013)


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