© By Frank Ormsby
Chalk-marks that traced the body’s line
Cannot be found, the bricks are plastered bare.
The wind has scoured the alley clean.
What comfort there?
Stains on the doorstep that were red
Grow light as stone, worn by the tread of men.
By foot on foot the ghost is laid.
What comfort then?
Limbs are forgetting limbs they shared
And hearts the hearts that answered them before –
In pulse as if they never cared.
No comfort more.
© Frank Ormsby, Aftermath, 1986, complete text, A Northern Spring, 1986, The Gallery Press.
Frank Ormsby is very simply and elegantly reflecting on how we forget those who were murdered.