Pauline Prior-Pitt

THE DEAD

They walk with you
the dead.

Some skip along in front
some walk beside
some, like naughty children,
drag behind.

Others walk on top of you
crush you into nothing
or demand to be carried
like shopping.

A few slip like loose change
into pockets.

And one or two
lie curled together,
stitched into the lining of your heart.

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