New Writing

The Sad Girl Waiting at the Mouth of the Pit

Kirsty Irving

Jeremiah hauls his walrus
of a body weekly to drop
hawthorn berries (it’s the nearest
bush to the house)
on Rachel’s rectangle of mud.

He does it quickly, mutters something
in a scoosh of spittle, one eye
on the road, jumps at a pigeon
interrogating a crisp bag,
then grumbles back home.

In the front room, to a solid stream
of “Useless, absolute plank, what are you?”
Benjamin will be replacing
the latest bunch of brown daisies,
with only slightly
more alive weeds.

Fifteen years, calcium, dust and hair,
no muscle left. Why do people fear the dead
when they can’t even hoist themselves
out of their plots?

On the way back to long lawns, microwave beef
and Dr Quinn, Jeremiah passes
the haunted pit from his schooldays
with its whispered-down history
and slung fruit peels.
A SOLD sign salutes from the gravel pile.
Mother will complain that he is late,
and wish aloud to trade him in.
A dead girl remains dead.

 

Kirsty Irving lives in Whitechapel. She co-edits Fuselit. Her debut pamphlet of poems will be published by tall-lighthouse in 2010.