Leaves by Clare Finnimore
Layer on layer sludged with rain
The rake in my hand uncovering on a cold winter’s day
A summer gone.
Later, on the bus the dog standing, trying for balance in the sway and pitch.
The overcoats, hats, gloves and scarves, the windows fugged with rain.
We’re all in this together
And the summer’s gone.
Today it’s crazy Suzie, her frazzled hair is flying
As she dreams of Formula 1.
Slamming on the brakes for a shadow on the road.
We’re all on this together
And the summer’s gone.
The choke of streets on diesel
The wending harried way
Clothes clagging damply as we pay and pay and play.
We’re all in this together
And the leaves have gone.
On Another Train
Chinks of light in the cracks
The jerking of an engine, the sudden lurching stops.
They would wait for hours or days.
Forced aboard to destinations unknown.
The children crying and hungry.
Suffocation in a railway carriage.
Speeding to Paris, her mother
Took a different train.
Beyond the sighing, the groaning and the dying,
Well before they reached that wasteland.
The knitting spills towards us, and who can know what thoughts
Are in those stitches; of mothers, brothers and friends, an entire
Generation nearly lost.
Somewhere Else Writers Group 