Ink-Lit Bones

Walking to the sea with ink-lit

Bones, crackling, combusting -

Waiting for the water to quench,

Heal, resolve everything -

You scatter like a firework

Instead, fragments shooting

At the darkness where demons lurk

In wait. Drooping, fizzling

Out, you fall, all rondeaux and split

Rhymes.

Mrs Collins

Strangers' smiles make her breath hurt, but the glares

From old neighbours

Accuse her, and only her; will

Her to break down. Rage flares:

She won't -

Weep herself hoarse for the dead man, won't long

To comfort the widow, won't tell the daughters

How much her own heart burns. Stolid, strong,

Born to endure, she won't say: 'it was not I

Who -'. She will smile, and she will plant flowers.

Charlotte stands in the silent shrubbery

Among the weeds,

Whispering to her friend's shadow:

You walked in beauty,

I don't.

Seashell, Seashell

Seashell, seashell, that once did house

A creature of the deep blue sea,

I peel off the sand sheathing you,

And revel in your frail beauty;

Each subtle line, each vibrant hue

Swells my heart like a victory -

Almost as if I had a hand

In making you.