I imagine that you’re bound
In a sheet, feet raised, blood
Pooled in your brain. Weeping
All around, frowns ensue,
Condolences all ready to be
Whispered already, you’re
Mummified with pre-emptive
Grief. That’s how I imagine
You are right now, laid on a
Slab, skin loose on your skull,
Bones in a bag, windblown,
Anchored to some far-off
Shore, folded like paper, and
Swollen, ballooned, thrust into
The light, but slighter than
I remember, closer to those
Heights than not, waving
Like a kite to us all.
Hey, how's
All of this can be heard
In the silences between
Words:
flowery wallpaper, armchairs,
Dinner on Sunday, the old TV,
Cartoons, and Monday afternoons
In the cold and the damp, digging
Up beds. It’s all swaying,
phone static, and
How’s Grandad?
brambles, foxgloves, bad sap
We’ve been warned never to
Touch,
Not good, I’m afraid. He’s very ill…
yew trees, masks, pillars and
Swaying,
…but he’s just asked for a whiskey
leaves fall to rest on the low
Stone wall, sliced by the glass
Jump over Easter egg hunts,
Strung bunting, barefoot
That’s… (unintelligible), I s’pose
to sneak on the grass, careful
To step each stone to the washing
Line, for the best hiding spot
Cut low through the weeds,
It’s not going to make it any worse, that’s for sure
catch our feet on the thistles.
The pinpricks evaporate like
Our breath in November,
He gave a big thumbs up after you talked to him
watch as the fireworks go off
On the ground.