Sunday, 15 March 2009
The Last of The Snowdrops
This post is a tribute to the friend who took her own life.
She did it in snowdrop season
when the future was shut off by snow,
when the earth was cramped, cold and barren,
her heart like a black frozen pond.
She did it in snowdrop season,
among those cold, icy blooms in the snow,
the green hearts within the white hidden,
her own heart as bitter as sloe.
And her blood there, staining the snowdrops,
like bright berries crushed against snow.
She lay there, so white among them,
her body all frozen and closed.
Still. Very still. Among snowdrops.
All broken, those bloodied white blossoms –
I cannot endure them now.
Published in The Frogmore Papers, No 71, Spring 2008.
And in The Stony Thursday Book