5th February 2018
Imbolc bonfire
the last trail of smoke
flurries of snow© Rachel Green 2018
no trace of him
in the fragments left behind.
There were, once,
but a succession of house moves
and repossessions
left my father scattered
among those who knew him not.
The thrupenny bits, the farthings,
the old army coat I treasured
all gone into the past.
Only his scythe left;
a treasured possession
for the chronicler of demons
but my life as his child
was severed long before his death.© Rachel Green 2018
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