Shiny Yellow Stockings

Man of glass
fractured
you stood
you sat
you smiled
you cried

No longer, in residence anyone of your name
remains.
Spirals of memories –
children’s games
fishing boats trawl waters deep
dream catchers with their secrets to keep
flickering images of black and white
reliving fragments of others acceptance.

Mother dear you’ve stitched that piece before
I know, you knew, that one day
someone would come knocking on our door
think you can wear that blanket
of ignorance for always, strip off that outer
coat of varnish –
scrub away the tarnished debris
You should have been an actress
encore after encore
with everyone screaming more
more, more – but not me!

In shiny yellow stocking, I held
my step father’s hand
in my shiny yellow stocking I
simply – did – not – understand.

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Whitewashed House.

My house is all whitewashed
whiter than chicken bones left drying
in the noon day sun.

I was five –
when they set you to rest
but here, you still live
my overdue resident, of sometime past.
How many things do I need to remember
outside the love of a father and child?

I suffered from no preconceptions
A child never does –
you offered, and I melted like sugar
so all the children can sing, as we let
the sea wash over us.

On the day they buried you
I played – though never in fun.
I felt it was  better than crying
less to make those grown ups mad.
Someone stopped to touch my head
they seemed old
so very, very old
I remember thinking
no matter
how long you were dead – you would always be you!
never to be that way:
So I smiled –
as I painted my house white…

Poppy ~xx~

26th April 2014