Ash is the purest white

Cast your hand above the flame

you’ll feel it fade

the warmth seeps away, your fingers cold

the cinders ebb, as the bonfire cools

the night is slow to melt, yet you will it to stay

where no one sees, it is permitted

the forest branches complete their journey

and you may mourn them too

you will remember, how the flame cuts right through

Cobweb whiskers

The cat walks past, cobwebs in her whiskers

clearing up the cardboard boxes

I thumb through picture books and socks

I listen close and hear laughter,

from a picture of my sister, who I take after

I fold it away, reach past a button-box,

I remember, every outfit, our stilted talks

so little was said, my sister’s sick bed

her hands as cold as mine