BONE CHINA
was at sister Emily’s house
drinking chamomile tea
from fine bone China
the day felt paradisal
but in the air
talk of civil war
so she and I chatted about
brutality, death and slavery
saw this escaped prisoner
making his divine way
to her front door
across her garden pathway
much we hoped he had
in store for us, was
bleeding
to tell us
leave us feeling in
the eternally ambiguous state
of hopeful, quietly
terrified,
secret acolyte
poems 2 die for 