1983

Two black crows eating from black bin-bags;

I step inside, listening:

Low sobs, muffled sobs -

Ripping through her sweet meat;

Stood before the bedroom door, whispering: ‘Mandy?’

Low sobs, muffled sobs, weeping -

Screams echoing into the dark;

I try the door: ‘Mandy?’

I close my eyes. I open them. I see stars -

Sliding back on her arse up the hall -

Stars and angels -

My angel: ‘Mandy?’

Arms and legs splayed, her skirt riding up;

Close my eyes. Open them -

Stood before the bedroom door, whispering: ‘Mandy?’

Scared sobs from behind a door;

Listening to the low sobs -

The muffled sobs, the weeping -

The sound of furniture being moved;

I lean into the wood of the door. I push -

The door opens a fraction then stops -

Chests of drawers and wardrobes being placed in front of the door;

The sobs louder, the weeping more -

I push again: ‘Mandy?’

A faint voice through the layers and layers of wood;

The sobbing, the weeping -

Another fraction, another inch: ‘Mandy?’

A child whispering to a friend beneath the covers;

Sobbing, weeping -

My arm inside then a leg, pushing the fractions and the inches -

‘Tell them about the others -’

It is Tuesday 17 December 1974 -

A cold and dark December place when I open up the bedroom door;

Behind the chests of drawers and the wardrobes -

To find her lying cold and still upon the floor;

Beneath the shadows.

I take her into my arms -

I look into her eyes;

Beneath her shadows -

She is snarling, carnivore teeth:

‘This place is worst of all, underground;

The corpses and the rats -

The dragon and the owl -

Wolves be there too, a swan -

The swan dead.

Unending, this place unending;

Under the grass that grows -

Between the cracks and the stones -

The beautiful carpets -

Waiting for the others, underground.’

Silence -

Holding her;

Low sobs, muffled sobs, she is weeping -

Beneath her shadows:

‘It has happened four times before -’

Tears -

‘Four times-’

Cavernous tears:

‘- and it will happen again.’

Tears, then -

Silence -

The silence, but outside -

Behind the chests of drawers and the wardrobes, the broken doors and the heavy curtains, outside the branches of the big tree are tapping upon the glass of the big windows, their leaves lost in December -

For only moon has shone upon them;

Cold and wanting in -

Wanting her -

Where the wind cannot rest;

My eyes open -

Looking into hers -

Winter lights for the dead;

I want to free her from the chests of drawers and the wardrobes, the broken doors and the heavy curtains -

Free her from the chains -

The prisons:

The certain death that echoes here -

The terrible, horrible voice that gloats, that boasts:

‘I AM NO ANGEL -

‘I AM NO FUCKING ANGEL!’

Looking into my eyes -

Weeping;

Rising and falling -

Beneath her shadows;

‘I’m sorry,’ I say -

‘Where were you?’ she whispers.

‘Who was it?’ I sob -

Her eyes open and looking into mine: ‘Please tell them where I am.’

‘What?’ I am screaming -

Summoning her back from the Underground, the court of the Dead:

This cold and dark December place -

‘Who?’

She is pushing me off -

Pushing me away, whispering: ‘You weren’t here.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say -

Standing up in the light -

But in the light -

The dead moonlight -

There are bruises on the backs of my hands again -