After The Funeral - Poem by Richard Blanch
We had buried my aunt, I remember
They say you turn afterwards to life
Perhaps it was the train
Taking me, shaking me
Away from those faces,
Those faces that really wept –
Perhaps it was the relief;
Or the profile that looked straight
Undet the shaded reading lamp.
Or the hair that brought Delos
Into the second-class carriage.
Though the oracle spoke,
With a fish-and-chip twang,
And sang to a lyrne
It was a pyre
For the grief
I could not feel –
Now I idealise,
Running from numbness
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