Sunday poem : I called up my childhood and it came


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:


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

  1. Thanks Dorothy. No, I don’t think so. It’s quite an old poem that I don’t believe I’ve even sent out. I have a vague memory that I did is as an exercise for a list poem.

  2. 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.

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