Sunday poem : I called up my childhood and it came

 large__8217291075

I called up my childhood and it came

the wounded kitten with its matted fur

a tall nun skipping with her skirts pinned up

hatpins, honeysuckle, liquorice, waterwings

my gentle grandpa stretching his hands out to the fire.

The Banshee came, and the Great Cat

the silky scarf my mother bound her hair with

the rosary, soupbones, all my lost friends

a red cloth apple filled with cotton wool.

 

All my hurts, all my delights to come

are there, sewn deep into the world.

What do I know but this?

My long legs take my body on

through high country, thinner air

my body in its coat of breath

and at the heart of it, the child alive.

 

photo credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/75920141@N02/8217291075/

 

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “Sunday poem : I called up my childhood and it came

  1. No, the apple is only a memory. The reason we know it was filled with cotton wool is that one of us- not telling- bit it. He was a quiet man with a domineering wife, as was the case with our grandparents on the other side. Our husbands might say the pattern survives.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s