Three girls with robin egg blue
school skirts past the knee
skip,
linked,
arm entwined in arm
under sudden flurries
of coloured leaves
sailing, swirling,
pirouetting
in orange and gold
glory.
The girls accidentally serenade
the weathered man
on the bench
with their high tones
and laughing songs
about roses and cradles
and cats.
He clutches a bottle,
his eyes open sky.
Arm in arm
the girls step
more slowly now,
the silence of stones
muffling their voices
as the ghostly wind
lifts their skirts
and tangles their hair.
Through the churchyard
they go,
past chalk grey
headstones
at all angles
each holding
the story of a life, a full life,
of a mother, sister, hero,
writer, dreamer, singer,
friend.
At the edge of the road,
a howl of wind
evokes shrieks,
cold bites
at the sweet point
of their necks.
In swirls of robin blue
they hug and break
and wave to each other
dashing down the street,
towards home.
Later that night,
they are tucked up warm.
Through the window cracks
the wind blows in
sounds from the churchyard,
the rattling of leaves,
the rustling of bones,
whispers in the dark
and the drunk man’s
rasping song,
his heart in every note.
Inky Cat's Poems 