8am without sunrise

A gloomy morning walk,

8am without sunrise

and I find myself in a graveyard

paying respects to strangers;

thankful there is no one here

I knew or loved.

Those graveyards are elsewhere

and lack paths to line the headstones.

In some places it is overgrown

and uneven – an endless reminder

the dead rest beneath you

with secrets you hope they will never tell;

they are my teeth and tongue.

Not every grave is left


The flattened grass reveals

the tombs I return to;

my still beating heart,

my recurring dreams

and memories of every boy

and every man I’ve loved

or worshipped or despised so much

I called it love.

These tombs are the tidiest

but adorned with dead flowers

I never change, just adjust

or add to; week old blooms

I left to die on my windowsill.

And the church beside them

is made of bone, my bones.

A skeleton rattling with ghosts

and prayers uttered on the lips

of my mind, wishes and hopes.

© Kristiana Reed 2018

6 thoughts on “8am without sunrise

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