Willow Tree

Two rows of contorted willows
Form an arched pathway
Towards a bench surrounded by wormwood
The mist wafts through the trees.

On the bench sit three sisters.
Dressed in black.
They say nothing
But they are communicating.

The morning sun rises
Making the wormwood glisten
With its silvery leaves.
Covered in dew.

They must return to the house.
They live with their father
Who treats them badly and beats them
As they tend the crops.

They are miles from the nearest town

One night their father is dead.
He has a knife in his back.
The three sisters say nothing
But they are communicating.

The body is buried the next day
Amidst the crops.
Never to be found.
They are miles from the nearest town.

The sisters return to the bench
Surrounded by wormwood.
They say nothing
But they are communicating.