Widowsnight

Widowsnight

Widowsnight ought to be black
trailing down lonely spines as it does
crawling up from photographic shadows
a sepia hiss of whispers
regret regret and unlovely now, all gone
meant for nothing,one cup plans for breakfast
no warm skin ever again

It is everywhere the colourless chill
like constantly dim winter days
lurking on corners
waiting for Persephone to go
collect her coat from the spare bed
and yawn her way into a taxi

Hades never took it well
that she went out without him
invented Widowsnight
I'll get cats and they can chase it
tangle it like skeins of wool