Sue Dawes

Buried in Meaning

I take her hand: paper-thin skin, mushrooming with liver-spots.  The last few years have brought drought to her words, her movements wooden, constricted by hoists and straps.  My name is as hard to catch as falling acorns.

The seasons pass, but I’m not ready to let go. Even when the rain darkens the earth where she has finally found peace, I still search for her.

fairy ring
I count the centuries
on the oak’s limbs.
            (Tim Gardner)

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Note: The haiku is used with permission from Tim Gardiner. It previously appeared in a larger piece in The Flintknapper’s Ghost (Alba Publishing, 2018).

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About the Author

Sue Dawes lives in Essex with her family and is studying for a PhD in Creative Writing at Essex University. Sue is an associate editor for Short Fiction Journal; helps run a community writing group, Colchester WriteNight; and works part-time as a manuscript assessor.