A room darkened by rain and small windows
photographs on a wall of the dead and the living
a dead fly upturned on the windowsill
mist obliterating the view of mountains
leaves trembling in their new-born misery
dogs hunger, heavy clouds of sheep slow rolling.
It is Easter, alone in a room
people at church, he remembers the eve
sleep coming through the unsticking of lips
the clock forward an hour willing one to life
going forward but now the rain is falling
pulling him backwards, clawing at him
the hands, he can’t stop from turning
and all the dead, all the ancestors
he thinks of those: parents, parents-in-law
the dead in the old photographs
their must becomes tangible in the room
and people unvisited, estranged, that is death too.
You should laugh more, someone said
when you laugh the past and the future disappear.
But that leaves the present, the now,
what he sees through the window:
dogs unfettered, their fangs exposed,
attacking a pregnant ewe.
This poem is from my collection of award-winning contemporary poems of country and city life, Rus in Urbe, which is now available on audio.
It is for sale at Audible, Amazon and iTunes. Free with Audible Trial. Listen to a free sample and/or buy with one click for £3.23 at https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rus-in-Urbe/dp/B07B9KYB25/ref=la_B001JOXD96_1_8_twi_audd_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520680743&sr=1-8 or for $3.95 at https://www.amazon.com/Rus-in-Urbe/dp/B07B9LVYYZ/ref=la_B001JOXD96_1_9_twi_audd_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520680939&sr=1-9
It is also available as a epub or paperback.