in a pile of naked emaciated bodies
flopped over one another,
People as things
rugs, blankets on a market stall
elaborate designs or plain
to put beside a fireplace.
Riches beyond avarice
in faces pinched into skulls.
Concave stomachs, prominent ribs
I had only ever seen in Christian Aid
adverts, famine victims.
Beneath quiet fields and woodland
their bones move years after
the weight of soil thrown over them.
the dead and disappeared move
towards their discovery
in shallower ground. Time
walks over their graves
building motorways and railways.
Grief takes time in small steps,
one softly after another.
We walk on unremembered bones.
A forgotten treasure.
© 2019, Paul Brookes