Cemetery Walk, 2
November 2025
Hassett Hallet Hosier Bonnici Doggett Peachey Goodchild Thomas Barefoot, Pook and Knott Blanden, Flegg and Doherty Mothersole the love that triggers in me lives testified to by a few letters of old names- look at it; the only thing to do is look: Snellgrove Sheehy Winning Briscoe. Briscoe. see between the branches, a new jar on an old grave, a grave so acid washed no words remain, and yet there she is, a recent candle burned; Lemira, Edith, Maud Marcella Herbert Alfred Albert Doll and Dot and Alma Augustus Rock Jones Quested release the need to understand embrace the presence of being, let the acid rain the rooks flashmob overheard an angel is the same colour as trees dusted in moss and lichen her beauty as beguiling as her years A mausoleum built for a family of no letters and an old reputation; empty gates, it doesn´t even bear a name: just dragons, lizards, a tiny anteater, peacock St Paul’s is too bright today: the sun makes it seem closer. Victorine and Clara, Minnie, sweet Minnie, Emily French Peskett, who was called "Home" (I thought her family called her Home instead of Emily, but no. 1800s. Back then, they meant heavenly rest. Now - the same words, in the same order, read fourteen decades later - I feel my face break softly into smiles before my brain realises it thinks of you: burying each other, I would have them write "who we called Home" it is how I describe you to my dad: a person a hearth, one March we held each other and the time became an old unopened place I never knew I had not yet settled in to; if I piss on your grave isn't that a compliment? to me the most divine honouring you can do, mutual decay - i know you were here. so was i: the mouthful of food on the plate, the slug poured out, the nuts and seeds and petals left drying for my root systems, the candles I burn at home for all of us; i piss on your grave, decompose together Emily French Peskett, who was called "Home" we called her Home because she felt like the place we could retreat to. we think we know what matters, we think we know how the world will turn after we are gone One day, fourteen decades from now, someone might walk past the monument you built and only read animals.