Intwasa Poetry

When You Died

When You Died I ran to the top of a hill and sat on its broken skull of stone and wind-thinned soil. I watched the Black Mountains darken and the river slip the grip of the town. I went to the pond, the one in the field above the house, its borders churned to mud by the cattle. I thought of how we skated there, taking the risk, despite the sound of the ice, creaking like a boat’s wet rigging. I went to your house, and saw the long, low chicken sheds. I remembered your voice behind me, as I, afraid of the sudden peck, stretched my hand into the dark to take the warm eggs, one of them wearing a feather. 46 ...