Fire Burns

Fire burns clean
flesh from the bone.

Silver earrings melt
and flammable fabric.

Embalmer's fluid
ignites easily, smoke rises.

They use
a large tool to grind the bones.

There's too much
for a small box to contain,

wrapped in brown paper
with your name on it,

my father the postman
delivering you home.

The Nature of Things

My hand runs over
my distended belly.
I think of my mother,
her own bulge,
talking to my father about getting ready
for when the baby came.
Did she notice his tears?
The morphine
and tumours in her belly and brain
removed her completely
from the present.
I dreamt last night of my daughter
ripping her way out of me
like an alien.

Truth

Let's not talk about
the whole truth.
Better to let small parts
speak for the whole —
a look, a hand
in the small of my back.
Better to find that
the truth lies
in the smallest things we do.