-as yet untitled-
outside the window,
an ocean of poppies,
red like denial.
she watched them day-in-day-out,
from sunset to the first shards of sunlight
which crept through their stems
and reflected the underside of their petals.
from this she saw veins, a tiny network of
lines like join-up-the-dots,
a motorway map
thin like emotion.
dadd went to war and
poor Bessie in her night-gown, begging
why won’t you love me mummy?
But she gave no answer, left an empty house behind.
now she’s there amongst soldiers
in a field of blood and flowers, dancing,
dancing like she had nothing left.