My latest piece on FVR for February’s theme of ‘Home’:
My stupid heart
Liked the meals at half-past six; red wine, raspberry cordial, sparkling water.
The old paper birthday-bunting worked for Christmas
And the toasted sourdough held its scrambled eggs
Like a raft for royals – yellow as mustard, sprinkled with salt.
Salt and pepper shakers, smooth as eggs,
The old piano, the creaky step;
The dust behind the sink, congealed with plastic lids,
Nail clippings, toothbrush fibres, glitter. Half-burned tea-lights
On the edge of the bath
And peeling turquoise paint.
China plates, painted, hung like paintings. I took one down,
To clean the speckled walls – and it broke, clean. It’s in the study.
That bit of carpet that never stays sharp,
Even moments after hoovering, dark, sultry green like the forest floor.
The basket of spices, and the knob
Of root ginger in the fridge door like a gnarled toe,
Washing-up rotas, church next door.
Mum can’t sleep…
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