stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 20472
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2019-10-14 15:30:30
    [post_date_gmt] => 2019-10-14 15:30:30
    [post_content] => It was January, there was no snow,
and the sky was baptised in smoky grey.
I went to a funeral in my school uniform,
in a creased blazer that smelled like
pencils and sweat and cheap perfume.
I remember that the coffin was flooded with flowers;
stars of butter and pearl and blood and hoarfrost.
The coffin looked sort of liked woven straw -
I ached to reach out and touch the knobs
like a blind girl hungry for stories in Braille,
to trace them like the bumps of a starving child's spine
that she, in her anorexic madness,
had coveted so well. We went inside.
The lights were bright and whitish-yellow
as the cartoon suns I knew so well from childhood.
I heard all the things I did not know about her and felt
myself shrinking, dissolving, like water on a dynasty
of desert sand. I was glass - brittle and sharp
and ready to shatter into a thousand glittering shards,
a vicious rainbow power smaller than the ashes
that are all that is left of her now.
    [post_title] => The funeral of half a stranger
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
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    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => the-funeral-of-half-a-stranger
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2019-10-14 15:42:51
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-10-14 15:42:51
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=20472
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
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    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2019
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the third-prize winner in the August challenge #1 2019: Photographic Poetry - Capture the Moment on Young Poets Network (YPN), written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Andrew Pettigrew.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 3rd prize, August challenge #1 2019
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 20473
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Morven Grey
            [slug] => morven-grey
            [content] => Eisha is the third prize winner in August challenge #1 2019: Photographic Poetry - Capture the Moment on Young Poets Network, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Andrew Pettigrew.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 20473
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Morven Grey
    [slug] => morven-grey
    [content] => Eisha is the third prize winner in August challenge #1 2019: Photographic Poetry - Capture the Moment on Young Poets Network, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Andrew Pettigrew.
)

The funeral of half a stranger

Morven Grey

It was January, there was no snow,
and the sky was baptised in smoky grey.
I went to a funeral in my school uniform,
in a creased blazer that smelled like
pencils and sweat and cheap perfume.
I remember that the coffin was flooded with flowers;
stars of butter and pearl and blood and hoarfrost.
The coffin looked sort of liked woven straw –
I ached to reach out and touch the knobs
like a blind girl hungry for stories in Braille,
to trace them like the bumps of a starving child’s spine
that she, in her anorexic madness,
had coveted so well. We went inside.
The lights were bright and whitish-yellow
as the cartoon suns I knew so well from childhood.
I heard all the things I did not know about her and felt
myself shrinking, dissolving, like water on a dynasty
of desert sand. I was glass – brittle and sharp
and ready to shatter into a thousand glittering shards,
a vicious rainbow power smaller than the ashes
that are all that is left of her now.