Lisa Matthews

please take note this did not start last Thursday

Metal rails on either side,
I pick my way between sleepers.

The gate with its arching sign,
the dark night above it.

I think of you then, lying in a bend
of the stairs, in a pool of blood

teeth cracked on the concrete floor.

In the distance more transports
are moving: carriages creaking,

wooden whales in coastal waters,
all making it through the nets

to what lies beyond in open water.
While I can smell what’s ahead for

those of us who don’t fit – may you
live to brush our ashes from your brows.