All night
Trains rattle through the house.
I name constellations

The wind blowing my father
Home from the pub,
Lancaster tail-gunner stories:
‘Ten-thousand over Dresden’,
Strafing two-six-twos.
How he met my mother
During the war – how she waited
Under the railway bridge
Painting her lips with cherries

Way past midnight, awake
I remember trying to save
Butterflies in jam-jars,
Cowboys and Indians,
A thousand starry nights,
And a million long-grass summers

Now I feel only the cold
And the memory of things

Patrik Gryst (nom de plume)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s