Bone by bone

I am walking down the road

thinking about



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


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


collect you

bone by bone

from the river,


bone by



Dionne Lew