are always hard
to explain. In this one,
the freezing bone-fear started with
we were all terrified,
in the near empty aisles, of each
people might kill
but I might too: all ghosts,
all Pacman, and the shelves all looked
in the dream, was
sudden gaps: some East-bloc lack
of flour / eggs. I wanted to be
I found spiders
swarming across windows.
I climbed a chair, to clean – looked up –
we were having
my aunt’s funeral, but
not a funeral, we were all
knowing what to
do: Mum invented rites
and because of some new programme
to be in charge.
I was gulping, the service was
on my phone. I had to ask them
so Mum could hear,
I needed my headphones
but knew they might kill me without
was the trick, see:
three days in the sun and
things we’d touched would be safe again
a bridge, a fence,
anything, might kill you.
The sun could make things safe but not
and not there, all vanished
but dangerous… Like I said, a
Thanks to The Writers' Greenhouse for the prompt to write a cinquain chain.
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, and suggest titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.