Jill Sharp

In mourning

It’s not his usual evening call, the tender
I loove you, I doo– but a soft lament –
Crr, crr, from the top of the memorial.
Below, at the path’s edge – feathers splayed –
a lifeless woodpigeon, her throat torn open.
I hear my ooh, ooh, added to his,
and stare across the grasses, bluebells,
buttercups… All summer lies ahead,
the earth at its most plentiful,
their young unfledged. He watches, too,
the other pairs on a twilight forage before
that last race through the air, the sudden
plunge into sycamore to roost. Silent now,
he stands like patience on a monument
gazing at a new companionless world
uncertain what he is to be, or do.

Jill’s poems have appeared in magazines including Envoi, Morning Star, Mslexia, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Frogmore Papers and The Interpreter’s House as well as online and in anthologies. She worked for many years as a tutor with the Open University and now lives in Swindon. standing on the Worcester -shire Beacon in the Malvern Hills – Elgar country.