At Ernestine’s instead of the funeral
Two black trees
a pair of charred hands
hiding the bungalow’s pebble face.
Ernestine in the doorway.
Inside, my eye catches her step
as she kicks off teal slippers:
dead spider a brown bow
stuck to her bare sole.
She brings me a beaker of juice,
a party plate full of Hula Hoops.
A fierce log fire licks dry
my blurry eyes.
Sarah Sibley currently lives in King’s Lynn and works as a freelance copy editor. Her first pamphlet The Withering Room is available from Green Bottle Press. Twitter: @sibley_sarah)
NB: A version of this was first published in Obsessed with Pipework, Issue 65 (2014)