Feathers may be stirring but editorial eye is still a bit sleepy

Shudda read the poem out loud before posting.  Here’s the corrected version:

Cover me with warm, red earth to bake my grief

My father has died, my father has died

Tamp my body with heavy, wet earth for stillness and quiet beneath the leaves

My father has died, my father has died

Stop my eyes, fill my mouth and ears with hot, dry sand, to mute wind-blown dagger thoughts that jab my brain, scoop out my heart and scrape my soul

My father has died, my father has died

Fill me with all the world’s wettest soil, then stone heavy, seal me in a pitch-dark kiln

and bury me beneath everything

My father has died, my father has died

About stephaniegerra

I am a poet, novelist, salon hostess and enterprising organiser of: spoken word and music events; writers' workshops; literary supper parties and bespoke consultations for budding writers. View all posts by stephaniegerra

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