The bridge

I come each day to clean the marble plaque,
place flowers beneath Azadin’s face, and pray
he rests in peace. The eve of the attack,
he begged my blessing which I proudly gave –
a mother's leave to die.
                         Low sunlight bathes
the bridge, the road, the bracken-covered hills
in warmth and welcome; piebald peaks arrayed
Against the sky stand friendly guard.
                                     War steals
our children but it spares them all the ills
of longer life, and us from saving them.
I sit in simple silence simply filled
with comfort by his being near.
                                She spends
her evenings at the bridge contentedly;
the sunlight dissolves gently in the sea.



First published in Pennine Platform no. 84