A row of Georgian
houses slopes
down to a meadow
filled with pretty
little meadow
flowers where
you could forget
these rolling
barrows started
life as stacks of
corpses piled
high with earth
and stone that
rotted back into
the land and
only after several
generations’
growth grew
to resemble
what you might
call scenic
*
Built by the Dutch
in the century
before last
I climb the high
steps of the
bell tower and
taking in my
hands the tongue
the clapper
ring too slowly
at first aware
of my imposture
and then too
quickly in a bid
to compensate
as it dings hollow
across the
square and down
across the car-
polluted outskirts
of the colony
__________________________________
Will Harris’s poetry collection Rendang is available now.
