Adapted from a poem by Andrew Scotson
The tagged toe with string tied gently, looks too big
for the quiet one covered with a budget sheet.
She might have been one of the century, but died
cradling a suicide belt to her breast.
Her stain glues damage to a cover, no one can hide from
at the end of a relentless journey.
And in the suburbs, sunrise spits at a mother’s face.
‘Casse-toi’ she cries, for the baby
who laughed at crabs and sea shells, as they paddled
in fleeting sun.
© Remain with Andrew Scotson, 2015.