she’s buried beneath a silver birch tree, downtowards the old train tracks, her grave marked witha cairn. not more than a little pile of stones, really. ididn’t want to draw attention to her resting place,but i couldn’t leave her without remembrance. she’llsleep peacefully there, no one to disturb her, nosounds but birdsong and the rumble of passingtrains.

one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl?.?.?.

three for a girl. i’m stuck on three, i just can’t getany further. my head is thick with sounds, mymouth thick with blood. three for a girl. i can hearthe magpies—they’re laughing, mocking me, a raucouscackling. a tiding. bad tidings. i can see them now,black against the sun. not the birds, something else.

someone’s coming. someone is speaking to me. nowlook. now look what you made me do.