Ashes

It felt familiar,

my hand in his,

a nursery rhyme from

when we were milky-sweet babies.

Ring around the rosy.

Too young to know much

except when we were sleepy,

hush a-bye, baby

was all we needed.

Ring around the rosy

Pocket full of posy.

Or maybe his touch was summertime,

my bare feet running

across the lawn

and lemonade beneath a shiny sky;

spitting out the seeds,

rolling ice cubes

around my tongue.

Ring around the rosy

Pocket full of posy

Ashes, ashes.

Near him, I found myself with

the gap-toothed smile of

a schoolgirl

holding a secret.

Ring around the rosy

But summertime was shifting

Pocket full of posy

and gave way beneath

Ashes, ashes

the suffocating weight of

we all

fall

down.