The scythe rests against the wall
along with forgotten jackets
and a riding helmet last worn
when she was interested.
Dust has painted all we know
in the hall. Bird food slips
out of a hole in a bag. Nails
and screws, taken out but never
used, wait to punch and turn.
A pair of gloves wrinkle like skin,
haven’t pulled a weed in months.
The hallway is the back alley
of the house, like the brain,
where you leave certain things.
And hope they fade away.
Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. His first collection will be published by FutureCycle Press in 2018.