This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
Taid's Funeral
From a drawer, a scrap of creased cloth,
an infant's dress of yellowed Viyella
printed with daisies. And a day opens
suddenly as light. The sun is hot.
Grass grows cleanly to a chapel wall.
The stones are rough as a sheepdog's tongue
on the skin of two-year child.
They allow a fistful of white
...
an infant's dress of yellowed Viyella
printed with daisies. And a day opens
suddenly as light. The sun is hot.
Grass grows cleanly to a chapel wall.
The stones are rough as a sheepdog's tongue
on the skin of two-year child.
They allow a fistful of white
...
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