You told me

Silence creeps
along the burnt edge
of misery.
A body tattered,
a white flag lays limp
in my hand.

July sun
paints roses on
the bedroom wall.
I struggle with the
symbol of a black tie.

I hear her moving
in another room,
preparing,
a festival of verse
and song.

And I am stuck
like glue
to a summer light
duvet.
Dumb with death
stitching the threads of
twelve lost years

A wind rises,
sings in playful pitch
and blows a cyclone
through a house now,
not a home.

I hear your feet
on wooden boards.
Giggles,
a voice trembling.
And from the chestnut tree
I hear you say
“I am ok Da.”

My hands win
the tussle with silk.
A knot is tied
on a throbbing neck.

One thought on “You told me

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