Mistress of the Black
I see her sitting on the chapel steps
looking like a minor heart attack
dishevelled and so tired.
a finished glaze but left unfired.
that little girl, the mistress of the black
Her eyes black with misery and fear,
Crying but she never sheds a tear,
Shapeless clothes in her shapeless world
And underneath she’s just a little girl.
She’s laconic and she’s wise,
She kills me with dark questing eyes
That little girl, the mistress of the black
©Dave Kavanagh 2016