By Candy M. Gourlay

It was there
when I held her
dead hand.

It's laughter may
be heard watching
petals fall.

It shows itself
in smears
across sky.

I look to crinkled
brows, to crooked

and it reflects.
It is a raindrop
on an eyelash.

It dances upon
grave-less squares
of grass

in Gardens
of Remembrance.
Teak box beneath.

His body
ground to shells;
not ash.

It is shades of hair
in winter's sun;
sticky lips

on mama's cheek.
Yellow clouds
before hail;

beneath bare

It's never in
the usual



Co-winner of the 2003 Kota Press Anthology Competition and a finalist in the Poetry Institute Africa Annual Awards, Candy M. Gourlay's work has received recognition from local and international communities. Her poetry, prose and essays have appeared in an assortment of print and online publications including 2River View; Jack; Locust; Megaera; Niederngasse; Peshekee River Review; Slow Trains; Side Reality; The Breath; Unlikely Stories; Widethinker; Wired Art From Wired Hearts; and elsewhere. Upcoming publication includes Get Underground; Little Brown Poetry Print Anthology and Online Journal; Shattered Pillars Anthology; Voices Anthology III; and others. Gourlay was born in South Africa where she continues to work, write and live with her husband and three children. She believes hope is a place you can go dancing and doesn't like wearing shoes.


Loss  | Vashon | Services | Art | Poetry | Store | Contact

© 1999 KotaPress All rights reserved.  ISSN 1534-1410
Please direct comments regarding this web site to