Vetch

On dry banks by sea,
in small gaps in strata,
behind shoals of poppies
as they cut a path
towards deltas, my mother
standing at the edge
of the photograph,
twenty six years old again
and newly married, my sister
on her way, me not even thought
of yet, in the crackle of the flash,
on the wrong side of the filament,
years catch us all in the end;
sometimes it clouds
over and I shiver, time running out
and in the dry banks
between the strata our stories
take root and flower. That's all
and that is that. Gather armfuls
of vetch, gather and remember us.

Available from : Dogeater Press :