Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Poetry 2017 / 069

For today’s prompt, write a memory poem. Pick a memory, any memory. It can be a significant event, but sometimes there are beautiful insignificant moments (that ironically are very significant–quite the paradox). Mine your memories to come up with something good today.

A View to Rowney Green

The loft at my father's house
had no ladder
just a dressing table and bookcase
followed by a chin-up
and a foothold on the picture rail.
The room was vast,
warm from the east-west windows
and an acre of glassfibre matting.

Dead flies crowded the windowsills
their dying breaths looking out over the fields
they would never visit.
House spiders roamed among the mortar dust
spinning webs across the steps between joists
and shunning the dips of lathe and plaster
of bedroom ceiling ankle traps.

Old copies of Popular Gardening,
my childhood farm and doll's house,
the metal trunk of my mother's wedding dress
and funeral veil. My sisters African doll,
her dress grimy with unshod tears,
still able to groan out Mama
when tilted on her back.

The open window
and the drop to the pavement below,
emptying the attic space for the house to be sold,
the redemption of childhood
under the hammer.

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