Daphne Schiller
Coming Back from Pendeen
After your funeral
I saw from the bus
a stone table on giant legs
occupying a neat field
of sparse earth and pebbles
bounded by a stone wall.
I wanted to get off
slam my head on its roughness
weep over its solid surface
take bread and wine from my bag,
crumble the bread, hurl it skywards,
pour wine on the earth.
But the bus carried on to Penzance
and no-one exclaimed, Oh look at that!
It was an everyday sighting,
a postcard quoit,
my communion with you
in an unreal world.
Page(s) 13
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Staple
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- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
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- Yellow Crane, The