Ghost-writing the Climber

by Kristina Close

That weekend there was an accident.
But this is not about where you were,
the merry-go-rope and sky crack of walnut
boulders, the sheep wool sliding in the rain –
but who washed the blood and grit from your arms,
who listened to the oh-oh story first, and heard
the cows on the far slope roll black and white, black and
white, releasing their full vocabulary of ‘no’.