The bride who fell asleep

She slept before her wedding
She dozed inside the car
Cold leather to her hot cheek
She did not travel far.
Strange ghost of influenza
The sleeping sickness came.
It took away her voice and laugh
It only left her name.

I do not even have her name.
I smell the leather.  Think
You know the currents in that pool
Where she brought to the brink
White flowers, foolish slippers.
She never reached the hall
Caught his quick laugh and then her voice,
The red-haired girl next door.

I yawn; I lean against the door
Through which she could not go.
I shout at sullen children
I grimace at the snow.
She missed the war's fresh fires,
The shops' crammed shelves which break
Our children's hearts in silence.
I whisper to her, "Wake."      

Alison Brackenbury

If you've any comments on her poem, Alison Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.