Masked Native

I sit in the Garden of Remembrance, on a damp wooden bench. It is 10.30am. The church bell rings three times. I am here to talk to you, if you would come, one more time, just for today, to this cold, shaded side of the church where tired ground, patch-worked grass, wind weathered yew trees, and rain sodden flowers in plastic buckets present no joy, no comfort.

Lets be done with this lifeless place, stay away Mum, there is no need to come here again. I know you hear me, I know you agree. You are in my heart. Your memory more alive than this bleakest of places could ever be.