07/07/2018

#amwriting #poem #poetry #sketchbook visiting sylvia plaths grave

The hills rise more steeply here, harder rock
against the ice
that carved the sides of the drop. Tough stock
these gravestones mark. bleaching rain removes shine
within a year or two. Leaving the new
and the old the same. A blue-eyed grey dog
swims through the tramped paths wagging its walk
in welcome or distraction.

............

We didn't find it. Not that strange seeing
as she worked so
not to be found, but the view was worth being
in that place of stone and grass and bone.

 ......

I wasn't looking that hard, the view was
too nice - the sort
of place you want yourself when picking
through the brochure - wild contentment
in death. And just a hint of craggy saviour
in the form of an unowned blue-eyed
grey dog, distracting the searchers from the rabid
obsession of madness: and in my gravest voice
I warned the kids, I've got no money
so don't you dare bury me for falling asleep....
like poor Mary.
Then the dog licked my youngest's knee
and we went to buy pub burgers,
and dance the floss,
and note how steeply the land rises here.

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