The dead linger in some places.
At old Lilbourne they gather in hill folds
saunter through the churchyard
wander down paths behind cottages.
Their chatter settles in my ear
wriggles into my mind unsettlingly
until I find myself talking
to a dead shepherd.
Up at the Giants Grave,
misnamed ancient tomb
on chalk escarpment edge,
the dead are different.
Amongst lean faced hide-clad mourners,
Clutching stone tools, flint tipped arrows,
others lumber whitely, ungainly in bulky suits,
helmeted and dumb.
A wiry dog snuffles at my feet
petted by a curly haired woman
with a wide American smile.
A man unscrews his lid, chatters in Russian.
As one, old and new, they all look up
excited, wondering,
exchanging gestures
as the ISS streaks overhead.
Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond
‘Lilbourne’ was published by Milk and Cake Press in the anthology ‘Dead of Winter’, February 2021, available here.
that is beautiful Kim! <3
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Thank you Carol!
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love it; what is ISS?
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ISS is the International Space Station. 😀
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thanks; I Googled it but no joy —
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Well painted scene! Missed you in the poetry challenge this month. :)
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I have been unable to write this month. My son is not recovering from Covid, he sleeps all the time. A friend has died in Ukraine. It’s all too much!
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Oh Kim, what sad news. That’s a lot on your plate. So sorry to hear about your friend in the Ukraine! And I hope your son gets well soon. Hugs, R
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Thank you Rebecca, hugs much needed….
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