CASSINGTON
Walking too fast through the cemetery. Etchings in stone, fallen headstones. Women – 37, 39, rotting beneath wet grass – perishing under the perkiest of daffodils. Who loved these women; what manner of men? Women buried next to other women. Spinsters? What a word: conjuring worn fingers, thickly threaded corsets and dark eyes, wide open. Women, sinking. Strolling on through the village. Everything is blooming. Cherry blossoms, […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 