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C.N.P Poetry 

  • Writer's pictureCathexis Northwest Press

The Pipe; Two

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!


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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