twentieth-of-december,
((birthday))
too close to christmas.
cursed,
fortune-tellers predicted
tea-stained fingers at her face.
blessing,in disguise.
& they were right,
she (might have) laughed.

i thought of georgie
today,that one day she was asked to be alive.
her loving face & the only photograph of her i ever saw,
in which she looked as though she was secretly beautiful.

how she had a real name,
once.
i thought of
how she must have gasped for air when black atomic ashes rose to claim her lips.
she must have realised she was about to die
like the clever child that
she was.

back in the nineteen twenties,she lived (life to the full)
with her flaming hair
curling straight off the summer sun.

i thought of how she must have reached around for laughter
and only found
damaged bodies.
i thought of how her last moments must have been
full of tears that she wouldn't let fall.

i thought of how she deserved to live,
so very much more than i.

perhaps there was no-one left for her
at the end.
i wondered where she failed in trying to get out -
she had the best mind for escape plans
in the school.

i thought of what a rebel she was,
how she would do anything to amuse.
her last wishes would have been
for people to remember her
for what she was.
something.
given half the chance
to shine like she (never) did.

& her once-words are buried
under sodden-earth and the mists of time.
there is no-one alive recognising her,
and no-one claiming
they knew her name.
georgie is (supposed) to be truly,truly dead now.

& so,i thought i would try to keep that girl in the blurred photograph
alive.
she isn't ready to die--
just yet.
I can tell.