Cenotaph, Summer of 1995 by Becky Cherriman

The air effervesced with gossip and Newcastle Brown,
you were lying across me,
your head in the childless give of my tummy:
my hands were entangled in your braids, hash-numbed.
In those days it was possible to surrender to the sun
while above us the memorial loomed, tall and glittering,
grey-white as Edwardian dresses worn by ladies drinking Taylors,
as Harrogate skin, as the bones of those it remembers.

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Cenotaph, Summer of 1995 by Becky Cherriman

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