your rifle rests cold
as we wrap you round in your
rabbit-lined great coat
There was a great coat in grandmother's attic. Was it from the first or second world war? Someone had lined it with rabbit fur, for those who'd been on watch along the mined sands at Drigg or St Bees.
Preserved in the curtain-less attic among dry geraniums, overwintering, the coat covered the bed of whoever must sleep up there, looking out for stars, listening for creakings on landings.
The coat rests, the wearer half forgotten now, but in deep night, grief palpable still.
I remember the depth of this golden blackward fur, that almost drowned me.
October 27, 2014
YOU ARE READING
BIRDSONG
PoetryShort poems and a wandering mind. Life and love in the twinkle of a bird's eye. "Evening light fits the cove rock, a mouthful of gold. Cormorant bathes in amber, deeply still..." #29 non-fiction, #38 poetry. #5 haiku! These are in lots of differ...
