Where are you now?
artist hands with large knuckles and thin wrists
diving into filled sinks of dishes, pursed mouth
tight around low-burning cigarette
I hear in Japan they won’t allow workers back into the office
until 20 minutes has lapsed since their last nicotine inhalation
but I grew up in a miasma, you’d have thought
become an over-eater before a smoker
not very clever, collecting knives from pain
cutting our own victories in half
running to you in my cheap nylon dress
deep pockets of want, hitting my cold knees
your back was curved like a violin
a grace even in the mundane
our flat smelt of good food and bad smoke
I breathe the memory of it in still
wishing it were you standing here
washing dishes and listening to 70’s music
with your deep sonorous voice and onyx almond eyes
glimmering with intelligence
like a record shines wetly when it’s played
the needle deftly skating groove, defying logic
as we jump in time, unawares
one day we’ll will be gone and our chapter will be permanently over
only the old carpet remains
moth eaten with reminiscence
just the indent of us, as we danced light footed
and the walls, stripped down by each generation
first 70’s purple, 60’s egg yolk, then 50’s baby blue wallpaper
until beneath it all
the bleeding heart of those who inhabited this space
wishing for the means to speak
their raging smoking pain
and once they leave, closing doors softly
ensuring nobody wakes by their departure
joining a distant matchbox of memories
lingering in unlit corridor
where the lights always flicker unsteadily
when you turn to switch them on
Excellent imagery – the best being the title
You have taken the reader through several portals of time, emotions and lives. These lines gave me pause…. and the walls, stripped down by each generation
first 70’s purple, 60’s egg yolk, then 50’s baby blue wallpaper. Which reminded me of our first house that was very old, as I stripped decades old layers of wallpaper each made me wonder about the previous occupants and what they were like and placed myself there. I 💙 this poem.
I don’t right off know why this line stands out – “moth eaten with reminiscence” – but it does and it’s going to stick and pop up again somewhere. Absent parents, no matter how or why, alive or dead, or present, but not
Some memorable metaphors here to describe the fragile transience of our lives …
Thank you so much! that part was taken from experience I had the same as you and like you I thought about who lived here before and what that meant and it really touched me. thank you for reading and for your support xo
Really appreciate you
You’re welcome, my pleasure. 😊
I really appreciate you
Aww nice of you to say. ☺️