Thursday, 13 July 2017

Adolescent Memory

Humming to herself
she stood, half dressed
slip and bra already on
one foot upon the bed.
She rolled a stocking between
her nimble thumbs and fingers
not noticing my presence,
her angled reflection
in the bedroom mirror.
I spied the scene,
                 or victim.

She rolled the 15 denier ring
over her ballet pointed toe,
smoothing as she stretched material
and hopes
higher and higher.
Sheer material against still youthful skin
dark band contrasting the pale
translucence of her thigh.
Then suddenly she dropped her leg
smoothed down her slip
and closed the door
with a sigh.

Monday, 12 June 2017

Eating Onions

Eating pickled onions
by the jar
shut behind doors
that only open inwards.

Strange how children become
accustomed to
strangers at home,
whispered intimacies,
an extra button
on mother’s blouse.

Father never brought
work home.
Nights on the tiles
hid his infidelities.

Six and half a dozen
I’m eating onions
they bring tears to my eyes.