Poem Hunter
MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)


Ground in the Victorian lock, stiff,
With difficulty screwed open,
To admit me to the seven mossed stairs
And the badly kept garden.

Who runs to me in memory
Through flowers destroyed by no love

But the child with brown hair and eyes,
Smudged all over with toffee?

I lick his cheeks. I bounce him in air.
Two bounces, he disappears.

Fifteen years later, he redescends,
Not as a postponed child, but a letter
Asking me for his father who now possesses
No garden, no home, not even any key.

User Rating: 4,5 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Michael, this is written like lace - and so sad it made me cry. I remember reading Charlottes' Web to my children and the four of us were in tears at the end? The mother spider dies once her little ones are born, but your poem lives on in honour of her and her industry and the delicacy of her architecture. Stunning piece. love, Allie xxxxxxxxxxxx