IP. One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so

IP. One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so
(8th February, 2011)

She draws her fingers down her face, feels
yesterday’s tears flake from dry cheeks,
wishes until the world beyond the window
becomes an opening to her closed doors.

She watches six walkers, scarved against
the wind, proudly climb the moors, just
Heathcliffs without Cathys, and therefore
flawed, thinking: blistered feet ache worse

than hearts worn raw, and she takes your knife
and carves a fifth symbol upon the door:
this is how we ward off evil; this is to protect
against one more soul to add to the eleventh.

She prays, nightly on her knees, to each
Apostle in turn: one for each of twelve nights
of Christmas, wonders why prophets come
in dozens, like eggs and bread, as her eyes bleed

salt and water essence. It’s been eight months
since April rains brought evanescence. Decimals
have their places, don’t they? She adds another
zero to the sums. A tenner for Commandments;

the altar bowl healthier than a rich man’s
purse. Each night, she repeals the curse.
The dead man waits in ground for her, the
ninth punch the worst, but he paid the price

to find out all things nice do not make girls.
Three rivals vie for her hand, but rings of
gold are chains to her, now. Seven stars shine
inside her eyes; the mirror burns, broken.

The church bells ring, four chimes to make
appeal, the Gospel choir sings on Sundays but
they can’t move her. Feel: she is one and all alone
and evermore shall be so, this I know:

these are not the secrets of spent youth;
her lessons are not lined up for you,
sweet, watching children, lily-white with
your green felt slippers, your porcelain eyes.