Kathleen Poem by R.A. Burleigh

The daughters ran away into the hills
after boys with wild, limp arms
leaving the last of the apples to burn
while he wrote

It has been her jaw
he wrote
scratching his beard and turning
pages from a picture book
her jaw and the angles of her arms

Off in the hills the boys were
doing feats of strength, swinging
from hideous, ruined vines

The girls were were quite satisfied

The apples burning black had turned to sugar
He caught the smell as he looked at trees
(he could never quite get her eyes
he searched the cupboards, planks, all
along the table)

Kissing it was the girls who first felt discontent
distaste, the haste of all preparations

They ran off to the apples

When they returned he was crouched alone
like always, frittering away the last light

He stared past them onto the paper
trying to get her eyes.


RB