By: Marie-Louise Eyres
The Pipe
I’m bent, blackened,
All smoked out.
My heart’s lost
To the mouth
Of a toothless old fool:
We shared the taste
Of roast beefs, calves livers,
The honey of his contentments,
The bile of his fears.
We escaped together
From kitchen chores,
From parlor conversations,
Puffing away in a field.
Silenced now,
He was the only one who could play me…
I’m a flute, I can sing!
I’m a flute, I can sing!
I’m a flute, I can sing!
Two
One Christmas I reminisced
about the strung popcorn, paper-
chains and cranberries
we’d draped about the tree
when we were skint.
You looked confused,
had no recollection whatsoever –
which is not unlike you,
discarding details as we go along,
Then horrified, I realized
it wasn’t you at all.
I said nothing, knowing you’d just think
that you forgot…
Then I remembered more –
He took down that tree
with its wilted branches
the popcorn soft,
the cranberries shriveled
into tiny balls…
And when he tried tipping it
out our top floor window in Ealing,
he nearly fell
into the street below.
Gasping, wild-eyed, staring
back at me on the safe side
of the window frame,
I caught both his giant outstretched hands in mine
and we laughed
as he lumbered back inside.
Marie-Louise is from London England and lives outside Washington DC. She has been shortlisted by the Bridport Poetry Prize 2018, Myslexia Women's poetry contest 2018 and Moonstone Arts Center PA's 2018 Chapbook competition.
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