Afterwards: a poem by Will Burns

31 March 2017 // Poetry

My mother’s last days
were the end of a winter
that had become only
rolling blackout into blackout—
a time I had no hold on.
All news held a kind of dread
but ours, when it came,
felt like coming to.
A dimness in an old room,
a sense of certain things in absence.
Two sisters agreeing under the apple tree
that the gathered speed
with which everything was being
done was just plain wrong.

*

Will, one of our poets-in-residence, reads at a number of our upcoming events, including our night with ‘Scotland’s favourite avant-garde noisemakers’ Neu! Reekie! at The Social, London, on Wednesday 26 April. A full rundown of our forthcoming events can be found on our Facebook page.

Will Burns on Caught by the River / Twitter

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