Breakfast

Breakfast -
by Josie McCall

He shatters the silence with profanity
Dropping the knife between his feet
Pressing his thumb against the spurting cut
Across his palm,
And he remembers.


Black cars,
Black suits,
Umbrellas.
Black crows huddling,
Bare branches.


Throat hoarse,
Muttered thanks,
Pressed palms,
Blurred, nameless faces,
The wide, black maw
Swallowed her.


How could he stand here,
And not scream?
The black, soft peat,
The damp earth smell,
Her favourite roses,
Tainted with loss.