Wednesday, 30 October 2013

what the wind remembered

nobody remembered her name or her face
or the pale of her wrists
by the edge of her lace

 no one remembered the man or his name
who sunk his axe deep
in the wood
in the yard
in his sleep

only the wind still whispered her name
through the gaps and the floors
through those walls
made of wood

and wrung out the leaves of the trees 
just like hands
to remember the others

the other ones who had died
there

two and twenty years before
and twice as long
before then

and twice as long
before then

and twice as long
before then

by Katya Mills
'house at 22nd and F' by katya