Colours of the Week

Grave Yard

Colours of the Week

Monday, blue as a uniform
blue as Quink in the squat
square jar. Monday always blue
and Tuesday so much brighter,
lighter like a hazel catkin.
Tuesday the colour of pollen.
Wednesday, not full of woe
but the colour is weathered,
the brown of cherry bark
and polished outdoor shoes.
Thursday is black, the letters
carved in granite and Friday
when you must eat fish
is golden like Mazola
like a perfect chip
from the pan. Saturday
is sandy yellow, warm
before cool frosted
Sunday. White white Sunday
like the perfect icing
on a wedding cake or flocking
on a First Communion dress.
I know the colours of those days.
The colours do not run,
they are fast.

Copyright © 2011 Sally Anne Adams

Grave Yard

A childʼs ice cream in the sand,
a brooch with a broken clasp,
a biro which still works
with a strap line reading
‛insurance for the clergyʼ.
A toe bone in the moss
moved from its vault
and moved again
by the finder
to the corner
by the cedar
where the broken stones
are piled like unread books.
Finders are not keepers.
The dead are not sleepers.
Losers are weepers.

Copyright © 2011 Sally Anne Adams