Two Poems

Ghost Words

There is a child who died here
He died yesterday and today
And he will die again tomorrow
He is anywhere you care to imagine
Without a roof or soft words
Perhaps on these very stones
He walked taking a smooth one
And turning it in his palm
As any boy, maybe yours, might
He was probably cold
Let us believe that he was
That his feet were sore
And his soul an insubstantial shadow
Yet even this luxury he sold
For a simple thing like bread
The sort our children leave uneaten
On a clean plate that is their right
But they do not deserve


I am my mother now. Just
a girl’s careless words echo
In a hall full of anger. In a hall
with a red carpet - twin
decades ago. I slammed
the door, leaving her behind
In my helpless silence