Yellow and blue kitchen tiles,
that old stainless steel sink and tap. Odd porcelain cups, saucers and plates, that kitchen bench with roses in a vase. Strawberry rhubarb pie in the wood oven, sitting with Mum at her favourite spot.
Sorting through letters
once trees, the paper holds our distant memories
An antiquarian silver spoon,
hidden in an old treasure shop.
A desire to caress the spoon,
to touch and feel the silver.
The spoon feels alive in her hand
as if she once touched the spoon.
An image of herself so unfamiliar,
laying down on an unknown sofa.
A dress of white adorned with
many light roses moving down.
A noise from behind awakens her,
as the book slips from her chest.
The spoon above her,
a flash of colour, then cold nothingness.
Seeing herself dead,
looking at his face. The man she already knows, blood dripping from the spoon; her fiance holds the knife.
The sun feels warm,
yet the breeze tells a different story.
Days where even the
flowers seem to have gone vintage takes me back to childhood moments in the ’80s.
The carefree moments
when I did not think about the good times coming to an end.
Days like those were
carefree, but I must say, looking back, that those days felt sad too.
Once polished weekly
with love and devotion,
I return to the
silky oak duchess.
In an old draw,
I found bits of jewellery and
pictures of us as kids.
into the wood,
remind me of how
much I miss you.
I am packing the boxes to find old treasures that I thought didn’t exist, for I forgot about them.
I find that old black and white picture, a vase from Mum’s place with purple orchards, a trinket with sentimental value from school, and the plaster from my broken arm.
I’m thinking about the awakened memories as feelings start to rush and mess with my heartstrings.
Sniffing the items a little, I’m sneezing and crying.