Afterward by Sara Clark

Little details whisper of her dying,

Three bars left on the hearth, the cluttered sink

The strangeness of the place, the lack of pink

cold tea, stale sandwiches, an old man crying.

His memories fall like flowers from the pages

of that old book they pressed them in so tight

before she wandered off into the ages,

lost in the black and uncut cloth of night.


Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

One thought on “Afterward by Sara Clark”

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