Far

wheeling over

the long downs

this flock of birds

so far a girl

asks    what is it

over there

a cloud or

smoke curled

round itself ?

this bonfire

now has edged

out and down

ash cones

through nettles

letters   the thrown

sticks of late

winter   why

does smoke

suddenly curl

like a ringlet

horizontal?

so close to

earth it could

touch us

Your last sister

there used to be six of you

seven counting the girl called Mary

who died screaming at eighteen months

your last sister shakes

like you   and can’t remember

the house she grew up in

brought to the funeral

she wanders from room to room

crying      alone amongst so much grief 

Copyright © Janet Sutherland, 2007

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