There was a time when

The woman who lived in that house

Turned stranger to me.

 

In stormy weather, the way she

Laughed made me feel she nursed a

Darkness deep inside.

 

There was a new twist to her smile.

Her hungry blank face turning to me

As she read my stars.

 

The old rocking chair at the door

Swung like a cradle

By the hand of a ghost.

 

Nothing grew there, except

The tall apple tree,

Fluttering with weak, white blossom.

 

At the end of the hallway

There was a door.

She sat on the bed, thinking of it,

 

Turned cold with shame,

The hot breath of God on her neck

As she remembered it.

 

Death comes close to us all.

The sky is dark, fatherless.

And now, the sound of a woman crying

From a long way off….

by Natalie Crick

Feature Image source – Laffichiste