Bone by bone

I am walking down the road

thinking about

people

 

my people

 

on roads like this

that the dusk is quietly erasing

 

people on trams

in trains

that whip about on fixed axles

pressing their bevelled feet

into the rails

 

I don’t know their names, so

I hold them

in a sweet anonymity

I once shared

 

not mattering in the proper

way,

in the way in which

the waitress who smiles warmly

and asks me what I did at the weekend

does not really care –

 

but that those who do

will

collect you

bone by bone

from the river,

 

bone by

bone.

 

Dionne Lew