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Literature Text
I thought of you
In the bread aisle of the supermarket because
They had those little white rolls, the
Ones you used to take to work in
A Tupperware container.
I thought of you
By the window tracing raindrops
Making frown-lines down the glass -
You always liked the rain.
I thought of you in the car, with the silence
Pressing thick cotton-wool wads against my ears
God. If I put the radio on, surely a song would
Remind me of you
I leave your ashes in the red
Lacquered box on the mantelpiece afraid
To scatter and frag-
-ment the memories that are rolled
Up neatly in my mind like Sellotape.
Is there a way I can let you go
Subconsciously, in sleep perhaps, so that
One February morning when I wake I won't reach for the
Warmth of your body that is no longer there no longer anywhere no longer anything
?
And I will wake alone and free
And not think of you
In the bread aisle of the supermarket because
They had those little white rolls, the
Ones you used to take to work in
A Tupperware container.
I thought of you
By the window tracing raindrops
Making frown-lines down the glass -
You always liked the rain.
I thought of you in the car, with the silence
Pressing thick cotton-wool wads against my ears
God. If I put the radio on, surely a song would
Remind me of you
I leave your ashes in the red
Lacquered box on the mantelpiece afraid
To scatter and frag-
-ment the memories that are rolled
Up neatly in my mind like Sellotape.
Is there a way I can let you go
Subconsciously, in sleep perhaps, so that
One February morning when I wake I won't reach for the
Warmth of your body that is no longer there no longer anywhere no longer anything
?
And I will wake alone and free
And not think of you
So, yet another take on that old chestnut of loss and grieving. I blame the late Romantics.
Anyway, hope you like it!
Anyway, hope you like it!
© 2011 - 2024 BrightLittleOwl
Comments6
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You are very talented. When I was your age I wrote poems like this. Now many years later the experiences I imagined are only too real. If you have ever read Beast In the Jungle by Henry James as I did recently you might even recognise the ability to 'forsee' experiences you have not yet had. This is the sign of a true poet. Keep writing.