which she came around, fire in her belly. Her windows were black, open and hollow & howled in things impossible for living. You will die young, torn out in your windows, & she did, fire in her bones and belly. Forget it (allegiance), sling it in the pit and go on without it, a commensurate little betrayal in memoriam and kind. Fly off, memory, wing to the sky. (Yet I keep it under the wing.) Look out along the shrouded line & compare the dreams of your mother and father with the things you think and say & what things you do for money and learn to put away.
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THE LAMPETER REVIEW - Issue 4 - January 2012