Comments about Sally King
The Funeral (She Is Not Dead)
How can we mourn her passing when
As she has always sat
In her chair by the window.
Her long painted fingers wrapped around a lit cigarette
Curls of warm, sweet, dirty air rising to
The ceiling yellowed with the tar of a thousand cigarettes.
On the table, tea, chocolates, flowers,
Pink, red and green blooms.
She wears a red jumper
With a roll neck and wide ribbed knitting,
A few stains of lunches past dotted down the front.
She always wears the same red jumper.
I know she had others:
Blue, black, beige,