The Mind Archive Poem by Sheena Blackhall

My mind is murmur-filled with perches
For little lines of swallows
Such as the squelchy day you caught that fish,
Your mouth gone melon happy

Sometimes I hear your feet
Thudding up the path to an old house
Its flowers long perished,
Sonorous, then, with bees

A laugh can whirl me round
To a disappointment
And then I sit and polish your photo-face
Buffing it thin,
As if behind the lens you still stand watching

Could I lure you back with chants and incantations?
Could I drop crumbs back to life
Through the crunching years?

Sometimes, memories break the dam of defences
I'm flooded into the reeds, where Moses rocked
No solace even there, the heron stalking
A menacing steeple, raising his piercing beak

The Winter air is dry, the loch gleams darkly
Another dreary day drags darkly by.