Bread and Wine

Quarter past four
When fifteen follows sixteen
Seconds freeze:
Fever dream.
And a photograph is born

Depicting scenes
Of a family round a table
Switching dreams
For a disease
Which through one of them has torn.

Breaking bread is dead.

You're a legacy of opinion
To a five-year old red indian
On the knee of a dying aunt.
She says 'cancer' I say 'can't'.

She says 'a ghost
Is nothing but a memory,
Don't forget: I'll stick around'
And she hasn't vanished yet.

When paper burns
The picture turns to ash
And becomes thought,
So I was taught
And the same applies to death.

Raising dead like bread.

You're the public face of an angel.
Whenever I feel un-sage I'll
Summon to thought my aunt
Who says 'can' when I say 'can't'.

Breaking bread and wine.
On memories we dine.

Quarter past four
When fifteen follows sixteen
Moments wait
To come awake
By a well-tuned radio.

The static hangs
Like cicadas in
B-Movie sound design.
I'm by a lake.
I can't watch the lady go.

Baking bread with dad.

You're the drizzle behind his eyes.
The salt in our dough's a surprise.
I say 'tell me about my aunt'.
I say 'cancer?' He says 'can't'.

Breaking bread and wine.
On memories we dine.