He smiled

We stood on the doorstep, flames flickering behind us, and watched him walk away. He did not turn around.

‘Who was that?’ I looked at my mother. ‘Why did he smile and call me his?’

‘All in good time’, she said, her voice strange, and put her arm around me.

We broke bread

we broke bread together
and then
we broke the ground
burned dried branches
and spread the ashes on the broken ground

many years later
when neither you nor I
were here
the new trees grew
and houses became homes

we do not need
to be remembered
the buds on the trees
and the hands on the door handle
suffice