SWEET <br /> <br />The day she went <br />out of our lives <br /> <br />I offered her a sweet. <br /> <br />'Thanks love, I'll eat it <br />later on the bus.' <br /> <br />She snaps it shut in her little red purse. <br /> <br />I still feel my hand <br />letting go of her hand <br /> <br />see for the last time <br />her never-again-seen face. <br /> <br />Only the little red purse <br />returns <br /> <br />out of its mouth <br />Death laughs <br /> <br />in blood besprinkled glass <br />some small change <br />the never eaten sweet. <br /> <br />For years it lives <br />behind the wind-up clock <br /> <br />in my mother's bedroom <br /> <br />scaring me each time <br />I have to pass <br /> <br />and it sees me and laughs. <br /> <br />My little brother <br />not even born then when... <br /> <br />jumps up
