The Secret History

There's a hundred bodies buried in the ground

On the hill that we drove past to go to your dead father's house

Where they laid you down with all the other wilted women

Who lit candles by the river and talked to themselves out loud

On the way home in the bleary grey dark October fog

I swore I saw a shadow moving in the rain that hit the car

I'd love to be wrong

I'd love to be wrong about death

You were the safety orange-gold of home

The porch light on, the electric thrum passed through, coursing around you

When I saw your face change from stern to angry musing then I knew