'Teresa' by Joan Goodyear

I miss our Teresa

She’s put in the crate and in the fires

And her ashes in the pot with

Broken flowers and leaves around


All the fallen leaves that I cleared from the ground

Collected from her grave and put in the bins

Cleared to show the gold and silver names


The yellow flowers put in pots

Sunk in holes

Flowers that die on Teresa’s grave


I go to the grave as a helping hand

To put water in the pot

To clear away the leaves


And I’m dreaming about her

I’m dreaming of me going to sleep,

My own dying, it could be that,

And lying in a family grave

With the young ones coming round

Bringing red flowers and clearing the leaves

From the dug-up ground.