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
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