Friday 17 April 2009

When Number Thirty-Two was Empty

They were jubilant
when the Greens moved,
leaving the Avenue to fester
in the drama of caravans on the street
and new babies visiting Grandma.
There was an acute sense of loss
to the few who had enjoyed
the comings and goings of the lesbian hotel;
the pool of occupants
expanding and contracting,
but always with a core
of leather clad women
who laughed and held parties
and wrote books and poems and sang in the garden
and impugned the prejudices
of the knock-knock-knockers
like a singularity
drawing everything of interest
to the brass plate
of their wooden door.
The Avenue felt empty
without the smiling
of the open house
and the shuttles and whorls
of the women who lived there.

5 comments:

aims said...

Rather made my heart ache.

Rachel Green said...

Fear not - we have no plans yet.

BT said...

I loved that poem Rachel. So thoughtful and anti prejudice.

aims said...

Here I am again - Saturday - to read this once again because it touched me so.

I can't say why Rachel. I really don't know. Perhaps just a loss for words because yours evoked so many thoughts and images. Of my friends who I hope so much to meet one day and join in their laughter.

Oh dammit - sniff.

Rachel Green said...

Thanks Aims. Your connection is welcome :)