By | 15 September 2022

A clothesline dandles
rows of vacant newborn
jumpsuits. The way I made
a life for you and you
fell away from it.

Worn sheets ghost a whipped
branch, swing the wind
to haunt me, opening
folds of loss and hope. Only I
meet their flinching gaze.

Two cotton tunics sigh,
ironed, airing. Two girls’
lives prepared by an unseen
woman. Fresh to press forward
into blood, into breeze.

Airless drawers, closed
room stacked with stuff. Left
-over treasury, thrifted loot, boots
chunky and scuffed. A life walked
away. Its imprint stays.

All this is emptied
of us, as we are emptied
of life. We are frayed, we are
threadbare, our hold light
on branch, bar and hand.

Open to breeze and breath
and the end of breath. Open to hope
and blood, the swing and fall
of it all, to the end
of light’s flinching hope.

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