The mourners

I can’t believe she’s dead, he says Looking around Looking embarrassed This is a fucked up thing to say But she gave amazing head The others, suited, laugh, unsure And shuffle And he carries on despite himself Wishing he didn’t have to But he has something to share From the other side of the train I imagine her talented mouth At work on this unremarkable boy A disembodied throat I watch their incredulity Their posthumous desire Rest in peace, I think Wishing I was her

Sonya Carassik Ratty is a London-based writer of poetry and fiction, as well as an editor. Her work often focusses on appetite: cravings, hunger, satisfaction. She frequently collaborates with photographers on image-text projects.

Cover photo by Matthieu LE LAN on Unsplash