Siobhan Casey



Before my sister

leaves I know that

there is never

a return


that there is nothing

but a wooden vision

of steps


leading out to road.


We talk inside

the steam of

coffee cups


inside the round

chk chk chk

of summer sprinkler


her wedding

already a permanence

between us


a moon resting

on its side


 a rusted

bell about to sound.


Filed under: Prose