Sister of eaves
and altars, you carry weighty things
collected, curated, caught,
dumped or bought.
And ashes too. Yes, you
keep them in place
so I don’t have to. Dust
coats with dead skin, I hear,
layers
covering things that I don’t dare:
a white vase fanning
useless for flowers,
a bird that’s in flight for hours,
another is a tea-light holder
(If I should find its birdie twin
that kissing pair unite again),
a figure made of toilet roll
and sticky tape by my kid.
There’s more much more
and memories are bullish.
But I see them now
they pull my eye
up off the ground
containers, jugs and trays,
things to hold old days
and keep my mum around.

This is beautiful Julie
ReplyDeleteLove this - a poem from special things
ReplyDelete