Eyam (Unfinished) Poem by Preston Simmons

Eyam (placeholder title)

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"I'm almost done" Marie said as she made /
A crisp snip and held the cloth paper up /
To the dim light. She ventured out to the /
Lane, her smock blowing in the wind, and left /
The dove on a stone for Anne. Water dripped / From an eave, Anne approached the stone and touched /
The fibrous yellow linen paper, spreading /
The dove's wings. She held it close to her chest /
As she walked, gazing back at the still home.

A door creaked open and a bucket banged /
On the frame. "Easy now, Jane, I've come to / Feed, " said Mark. He put a spoon of broth near /
Her pursed lips as she shuddered. "I'll return /
Tomorrow, " he said, and she heard the old /Stairs creak and groan as he descended slow. /

Catherine Mompesson passed by the door, /
Mark's darting eyes met her gaze as he shut / It. He's been tending, she thought. For how long? /
Wood shutters clacked. "Have you no care for the /
Whole village? " called one woman. A child was /
Pulled from a door, as chairs scraped on clay tiles. /
"Best not return! " yelled a man from the door. /
The lane grew still as Mark retreated home, /
His footsteps faded on the cobbled stones.

A small flame burned on a short candle as / Mark doused the taper. "Mark? " called Catherine through #anapest /
The door. "Yes? " he replied, while slightly cracking #amphibrach /
It. "I know you meant well, in tending Jane. /
But if you go again, do so by night". /