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Ashen
You’re that unworn dress
Still hung on your door
He told me once, cradling another
Cigarette to his lips
I took it, tipped ash
Onto my wrist-just hot enough
To blacken the rag compact
In my fist, dried since our drama
Now flaking, now shrinking
Smoke pirouetting
Straight up between us
Asphyxing the room
We exhaled, adding to my
Shrivelling pyre, soon
Shivering ash, set to collapse
The moment I rose.
Laura Cleary is a 27-year-old girl living in Dublin. Her poetry has appeared in Ascent Aspirations Magazine, DCU's Sleepless Nights anthology and barehandspoetry as well as the forthcoming edition of The Poetry Bus. Laura has also had work shortlisted for the 2011 Yeats poetry prize (losing out in a whirl of sexual tension to the magnetic Kerrie O’Brien). Her interests include reading, writing, chemistry, dresses, gin and hugging strangers.
Email: Laura Cleary
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