Dead on the hill

If I were you I’d be sad to be found.
Announced, un-named, on the news.
Carted in a bag to the road.
Patched in places crows have been
to be seen by a weeping wife.

No.
I want the crows to feast.
I want to seep into the earth
the worms to work my flesh.
I want to feed the roots of the blaeberries
to trickle gently down the green braes.
I want my pickled bones to splinter
and my dust to be lifted
by the breath of the cold wind.
I want to stare
still as the watchful hill
at the foreverness of the stars beyond.

About Charlie:
Charlie Gracie was brought up in Ballieston, Glasgow and now lives with the family in Thornhill, near Stirling.

His poems have appeared in the following publications: Cutting Teeth, Pushing Out The Boat, New Writing Scotland, Poetry Scotland and The Herald.

His short fiction has been published in a number of literary magazines and he has worked with children in the Scottish Natural Heritage People, Peat and Poetry project.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.


*