The generosity of the dead

cannot be reckoned in coin or note
is peculiar to the moment
is subject to whim
for the dead are not beyond fancy
varies with the season

(you might think it greatest at
Dia de Muertos
All Hallows’ Eve
no: then
the dead have other fish to fry)

cannot be depended upon
cannot be spent freely
may come to you at the lowest of times, when they see
your earthbound sadness
your small soul’s longing for escape
your back bent from the ordinary everyday

may take unexpected form
apple blossom pinking ice sky
a feather
borne on the breath of God





Andrea Small lives in Sheffield. She is a member of Heeley Women Writers and has an MA in Creative Writing from Manchester Metropolitan University. Her work has been published in Algebra of OwlsDream Catcher and Strix.  Twitter: @Andreamsmall Instagram: @imakesmallart