Howard of Effingham School, Surrey
There are no windows in the room you told
us of earlier. That room you dreamt last night.
You’d had a single hour to know the day
and that was all it took to feel the cold
of your damp cell. No exit from that place.
You remember the last evening birds twittering
in the trees behind that fence, enough
to never hear them again. I too have heard
them. I have watched the skies die together.
At the long kitchen table, I read
you a poem about how black dust
ate the moon, and you said
my nightmare was good.
© Andrew Wells, 2015
- Date May 14, 2015
- Tags 2015 Cells - Winning Poems