Skeleton tree

At art college, I made a skeleton out of fallen twigs of Ash. They were just the right shape and size
and weight for gluing together with a gun. I had fun. Now I could put my knowledge of anatomy into
good use and I completed the whole thing and hung it in a wire bower.   I suppose it may have looked
a tad macabre, maybe even jarring in that jaunty way skeletons have, their slightly humorous appearance -
why is that ? -
sometimes feeling like an afront when we present them at the wrong time.
I suppose I shouldn't have left the dear thing in the wardrobe of the flat I flitted from without paying
the last months' rent because it was outrageous.

Bumpy Ride

Here we are,

You and me,

Going along together,

It's so very bumpy.

I didn't mean to jerk you so,

It was a daft idea to take this ride,

When you were so comfortable inside.

Epilogue, a Ghost Story

How many stories begin at the end ?

She used to read all the beginnings of stories, then the ends, just to see how intention worked.



Life is loss,

Time is loss.

We have this feeling of going forwards, but, it's really a question of undoing.

What we have at our end is nothing.

Water and Stone

We're water and stone,

Rising up against each other,

Inclement weather regardless,

The violent drops of sharp rain

melt upon our surface.

The Heft of You and who came before

Your head in the crook of my neck,

How you tried to hold it up,

My hand on your back,

The softness of your hair,

The weight of you transferred from within,

To where I would carry you

Until your own legs would

along the rocky ways,

Where stumbling stones

always impede your path.



When you were born,

The snow lay deep,

Up to the tops of our bins,

No doubt even higher,

If you went higher up.



Full moon bright,

The Midwives expected lots of births that night.

The sound of the hum of the helicopters,

Soft as the murmered concern amongst us,

Safe in our beds with our newborns,

Grateful not to be arriving by air.