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| Ross Bridge church, March 1984. |
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| Photo by Marion Cookson (nee Kruss). |
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| Several generations of the poet's family, including the poet's aunt, Marion Cookson (in the red jacket), in front of the Ross Bridge church. |
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| Photo by Susan Kruss, c. 1999. |
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Tender
They are selling off the Church.
A woman wants to buy it
take it away to her piece of land
convert it into a house.
She especially likes the stained glass window
Christ reaching out to the children.
The men say the glass will fall out
if the building is moved
but they don’t tell her. She’ll
find out soon enough.
Little pieces of coloured light
sprinkle the grass.
Cheryl’s grave
When the point of the spire fell off
children after Sunday School
propped it on a mound of earth
behind the outside toilets
called it Cheryl’s Grave
decorated it with wattle blossom
on warm days full of promise
while parents in best dresses
and navy suits stood outside
discussing the falling price of wool.
Cheryl was my age, my friend
very much alive. Perhaps the grave
was her idea. It’s the kind of thing
she would have thought of
drawing us all in like lost puppies.
I remember it now. Circling
like witches singing hymns
or girls playing Lady of Shalott
we played ‘Grave of the Unknown Child’
to Cheryl’s tune.
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| 'She especially likes the stained glass window / Christ reaching out to the children ...' |
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| Photo by Marion Cookson, September 1999. |
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Following
Years later I stood alone
beside a child’s grave
late afternoon sun threw gold pieces
on the grass with dark red plum leaves.
We stood around in business suits
silent and wordless, pierced
by the pain of it, knowing
there was nothing possible to say
no ritual we could perform
to comfort ourselves or them.
The red cushion
In the empty church
the red velvet cushion is the only soft thing
bunched on the pulpit still holding
the imprint of a book and two arms leaning.
Tassels move in the wind, scattering
patterns of light
on the bare wooden floor.
Copyright Susan Kruss, 2003
Posted 15 September, 2003
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