Saturday, 1 June 2013


My hand resting

on the plastic handle

remember I'm breakable

walk slowly

they went out in

bad rain

to tidy the flowers

I stood up vases

on a fine day

on graves I never knew

not quite believing

someone could hear me

through the clouds

and I could feel

the sun

it's not so much the death

it's the pain that comes before

icy needles

hardly a thing between

leather and bone

yesterday there were bare branches

but how quickly leaves grow

on the climbing rose

so I press my hands

against a cemetery tree

and it's the earth I feel

when she didn't phone I thought

something must have happened

but that's just like her

didn't want to spoil my day

all the words

rush to come out at once

stamp and get stuck

while I hear her

and breathe

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