by Nick Gisburne
She doesn’t want to jump, but knows she will.
The lesser of two evils lies below.
The agonising poison of a pill
Is too disturbing. Too much pain. Too slow.
A river of machines and people, noise,
Meanders, slowly, seven stories down.
She holds the battered photograph, her boys.
A dream. Another time. Another town.
The winter’s chill should freeze her bones. Instead,
The velvet of a soft, seductive glow
Enfolds her. Strange. Two brothers, broken, dead,
Took every trace of feeling, long ago.
Another piece of dignity has died.
She mourns it as she struggles back inside.
