Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Mother's House

A memory of my mother’s house
A deep, clear lake
Sharp with colour
And the smell of the woods around
But fragmented
Like gravel
Sprinkled on the water’s surface

I could almost stand up
And walk through those rooms right now
I could walk out
Into the overgrown garden
Hang from the rusty swing
By the unwieldy climbing rose
Crimson and overblown
Left to the cold wind
See my father’s shadow
Bending, pulling a weed

The house that we sold
I've passed it since
From the road it hasn’t changed much
The holly tree in the front garden
That gave so freely of its Christmas berries
The rooms and the garden

Stealing other hearts now

1 comment:

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

lovely poem very evocative x