garbled sun

thirteen names

every year

I hear summer     ask     how autumn

can endure

winter’s undoing

Apple

And so, the revolutionary had a birthday party.

Everyone gathered around the cake,

a single pink candle for all those years.

Don’t you love how they decided mid-meal

to lean into each other, peer into the photo,

don’t you love that there is chicken grease

from the early part of this century,

that it was cooked at the revolutionary’s house

on Albert Road, that someone living

might recall the smell of the lentils,

the pop of the grilled tomatoes,

the particular apple

they ate in slices having sat back,

wiped the cake knife on the edge

of the plate, peeled its long green skin,

and cut the pieces into pages,

left it ageing on the plate –

John, Sarah, Linton, Sharmilla, Gus,

Abdul, Lawrence, Wole, Akua, Carol,

Jo, Susan, Barbara –

don’t you love those pieces of apple,

the brown photograph they have become,

don’t you love that there is nothing

remarkable here, nothing that would

startle a state, but that it has been kept

anyway, noted, dated, numbered, placed

in acid-free Japanese boxes and lovingly

(as is tradition) laid without a casket.

Songbook II

How many times has Miss D died?

How many times has she given us life

How many children does miss D have?

As many as the people hearing this song

Hearing this song

I said they’re hearing this song

I said they’re listening in from beyond

Hearing this song

I said they’re hearing this song

They’re listening in from beyond

How many lovers has Miss D had?

As many as there are leaves on the trees

How many places has Miss D lived?

As many as there are names on the map

Names on the map

As there are names on the map

As there are places that you can belong

Names on the map

As there are names on the map

As there are places that you can belong

How many times has Miss D died?

As often as there have been babies born

How many times will she die once more?

As long as things are worth dying for

And she came up in the morning

And she went down in the evening

And she came up with the rising of the sun

And she came up in the morning

And she went down in the evening

And when I turn around she was gone

How many times have you seen her since?

Never again, not in the same way

She used to be down in Deptford market

Laughing with the sellers all day

Haggling fish, I said she’s haggling rice

I said she’s good at driving down price

Haggling fish, I said she’s haggling rice

I said she’s good at driving down price

I haven’t seen her, nor have you

Not since the fire at 439