Saving Gracie
By Silver Spun Sand
Tue, 16 Dec 2014
- 778 reads
4 comments
Smoke hung low over the cemetery,
from allotments across the street.
Blows her nose on the sleeve
of her coat.
“Damned bonfires,” she mutters
dabbing at her cheeks. “Damn him
and damn the lot of ‘em.”
He’d been gone ten years since;
‘a saint’ his congregation called him
and to some, he was, even to her;
Her saviour, he’d been; giving her
a steady, well paid, housekeeping job.
She looks beyond the tiny, village
churchyard to scrubland stretching
for miles –
barren as her womb
since that ‘fall’, down his stairs...
almost two decades ago.
crouches at his graveside,
crowded by thistles; amongst
the thorns, a thriving clump of rue.
Should she rip it up?
Like hell she should; not his skivvy,
not anymore.
“As ye sow, so shall ye reap”...
the inscription on his headstone.
The man was Father to all...
except their son.
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Comments
A dark story, so much
Permalink Submitted by Philip Sidney on
A dark story, so much suggested and wonderful atmosphere created with such brevity.
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Such a sad story cleverly and
Such a sad story cleverly and clearly told between the lines.
Bee
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