Violate
you know
how it feels – when i’m a child still
& my mum’s gone & my dad. Let us
figure. as you hammer concrete
& the nail bends, we need
drill, discipline.
i’m torn & i can’t stand it
when you slip my hand
like magic
Grief remains with me
When you go, it’s for so long that if you come back
I don’t remember you.
The space you occupy will sigh, miss you
like furniture does;
the curved
stair-rail, my hand.
Dean puts it very well, seemingly ‘slight’ not slight at all. ‘The curved stair rail / my hand’. that feeling I find entrancing, like the longing memory of a touch!
Thanks, Peter. That’s what I was going for 🙂
a sly 2 poem, seems slight, but together they recall childhood moments in the deep end of a vast unknowingness
yeh, thought i’d sneak an extra one in cos they’re slight, & related. thanks Dean