Читать книгу The Lost Sister - Laura Elliot - Страница 22

I was searching under her mattress for blades and I found poems instead. Only a few. I suspect she’s destroyed most of them or maybe hidden them somewhere else. But I’m not going to pretend I know. She values her privacy too much. I cried when I read this one. I thought it was about gardening when I saw the title but she’s obviously still clinging to memories of our mother. At least, in this instance, Lauren has released them in ink, not blood.

Crying is not for the faint-hearted. I thought I’d never stop. Only that Jeremy was calling…I don’t ever want him to see me in such a state. We’ve moved on from that time…tick tock tick tock tick…

I’ve copied this poem and others into the journal. Some day when she’s stronger, I’ll persuade her to send them to a publisher.

Deadheading the Red Geraniums

I watch you

Deadheading the red geraniums

The withered petals

Blood-staining your hands

When you snap the head

From its slender stem.

I watch you

Breathe the perfumed air

As sweet peas waltz

On bamboo stilts.

Adrift in pink until the pods

Wither and decay.

I watch you

Gather roses: crimson, cream and peach.

The prayerful thorns sink

Into your flesh.

Stigmata lifting you

Across the deep abyss.

I watch you

Stroke the birch, the silvery bark.

A family tree, denuded.

A wafer fragment

Falling. Ash to ash…

Ash to ash.