Our Friday Poem this week is taken from Anne-Marie Fyfe’s latest collection, House of Small Absences.
Anne-Marie Fyfe’s poems have long dwelt on the role that the spaces we inhabit, the places in which we find security, play in our lives: House of Small Absences is an observation window into strange, unsettling spaces—a deserted stage-set, our own personalised ‘museum’, a Piedmont albergo, underground cities, Midtown roof-gardens, convent orchards, houseboats, a foldaway circus, a Romanian sleeper-carriage—the familiar rendered uncanny through the distorting lenses of distance and life’s exigencies, its inevitable lettings-go…
What the Dead Don’t Know
Grows quickly, daily, from the perimeter
of a postage stamp, until it’s twice the size
of Norway, and growing fast.
What the deceased can’t understand
is why they don’t still hear from us
day-by-day, hour-by-hour.
What the departed don’t see
is how the lead story has moved on.
What the dead won’t say
is…
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