all I remember
from back then
is a name
was she still alive
I’m not sure
a presence
or an absence
a shade perhaps
that people still talked of
as if she were alive one
that occupied a space
her sisters moved around in
(there were others like
those of their men-folk
all killed in the war)
I can see them now
three old women
smartly dressed
(but not showily)
sat on upright chairs
backs to the wall
sewing by what daylight fell
through the sash window
of a dingy room
fast forward sixty years and
all I have of this
that’s tangible
is a copy of the Rubáiyát
the shape of her name (‘Nellie‘)
and the date (‘5.10.18‘)
written in the front
in ink
someone who knew her
once described to me
the last time she saw saw her
an old lady in a white shift
a plait of white hair falling
over her shoulder
somehow
on the strength of this
I can see her sat reading
Why fret about them if To-DAY be sweet!
(small consolation)
yet wonder if instead
she put it to one side unread
to take it out from time to time
holding the leather cover
between her fingers
to wonder at the brokenness
and reach out to the dead
.
Dominic Rivron
/
Did read it, Dominic. All Grandad’s family were avid readers of poetry. Perhaps that’s why you too find it so compelling.
Comment by Sue on 19 January, 2025 at 8:21 am