A secret at home is like rocks under tide
………..-Dinah Craik

i. so you said

everything that shouldn’t be said
shouldn’t be       and the house exhales

the children stare
eyes the stained-blue glass
of heaven of       angels

ricocheting ceilings and corners
and baseboards and doors

even the foundations tremble
will not/can not
be silenced


ii. and a child is born

and a mother dies
a heart for a heart

an I for an I
god’s whim

imperfect vision
twists space and time out of perspective

such a small death       perhaps no one
will notice       once you brought me

hot chocolate in my favourite cup
that was before


iii. but our dead want company

and I no longer notice long afternoons
sadden into evening

until my newly-dead arrive
they can be or not be       maybe
I should write a book of the dead

of the dying of
the damned children who have forgotten

who do not even not know they have forgotten


iv. still getting used to it

in my first home I dreamt of flying
my second home was you
the third lies

behind double-blind windows       bolted doors

where I absorb the sound of you
the taste of you       smell of you       feel
of your old sweaters       scruffy shoes       books

CDs       DVDs       iPhone       so much
you left so little


v. but you loved our children

taught them to read the A to Z of it
the headline to footnote of it

now teach me       translate the history
you could not reveal to the children

the truth you would never
tell me

manifestly myopic
still aching to make it clear
make it real

whatever it is


Author’s Bio

K.V. Skene is a Canadian poet whose peripatetic lifestyle has permitted perpetual crisscrossings of Canada, England, and Ireland. Skene’s poetry has appeared internationally in literary magazines, journals, and anthologies. Most recent publications include Unoriginal Sins (erbacce-press) and The Love Life of Bus Shelters (Cinnamon Press, 2019.)