Death in the form of a child
When you came alive, I leant in,
a red flower to your whisper.
What you said, was dark. Darkness,
from the bud of the spine, so I turned away.
I still remember the sound.
If I close my eyes, I see your mouth,
an embryonic sack, opening and closing.
Nothing like the confusion
of water to make you think
something’s alive. Was that a hand, there,
in the swell of the screen
lifting or waving? A child or a man,
I leant in one more time, but had gone too far
to make sense of it.
Now I see, I expected it.
First published by Wild Court, January 2019
Listen to Helen reading her poem ‘Naked’, originally published by Envoi.
Allotment evening published by Wild Court, (August 2019)
A mountain that is your grief you can’t utter published by the Cardiff Review (July 2019)
Now my brother has died published by Atrium (November 2018)
A conversation with my daughter about my brother’s suicide published by IS&T (October 2019)