our prompt for the day: Because we’re halfway through
NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo today, I’d like to challenge you to write a
poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something.
The poem could be about being on a journey and stopping for a break,
or the gap between something half-done and all-done. Half a loaf is
supposedly better than none, but what’s the difference between half
of a very large loaf and all of a very small one? Let your mind
wander into the middle distance, betwixt the beginning of things and
the end. Hopefully, you will find some poetry there!
Reginald Claude 1928 -
1996
Clearing out the house,
where thirty years
had left their mark in
dust and memories,
left us with the last
vestiges of your presence.
Why did you never get
rid of Mum's clothes?
Would that have been
such an offence
against her memory? Or
were you saving them
for us? Smelling her
perfume, her face powder
on the collar of her
fake fur coat brought
unexpected tears in the
middle of house clearance.
She gave me your mug –
the one that held a pint
of stiff black tea
though I'd never use it.
You gave me the love of
tea but not the capacity
to drink it all day.
Your ashtray, too; the one I'd
given you for your
birthday. I don't even remember
how old you were when
you died. The tin of farthings
at the bottom of your
wardrobe, your de-mob suit,
a box of out of date
condoms, bought when Mum
was still alive. I had
little use for memorabilia,
still don't now,
thought it's taken fifty years
to cull my need to
hoard the past like ripples
on an oyster shell with
you, the pearl in the middle.
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