The Art of Scratching
I’m an itcher, perfected
as a child. Mum made me
a coat from Dad’s old peacoat –
worn during the war, only war
worth fighting (he said),
claimed every shot since
was political mischief.
Hated that coat.
Scratched my neck raw.
Like rope burn.
Thank you!
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Thanks!
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This is perfect! I can hear you having this conversation with me…and the stream of consciousness flow it takes back to your dad, the idea of war, his words on it, and then that coat and that scratchy wool. LOVING this!
Catching up on the whole week’s prompts….will be getting to Tuesday and Thursdays today and the next few days. Where does the time go!
I was looking across the room at old and some newer photos I have attached with magnets to the heater/airconditioner convector in my study and the thought popped into my mind
How does the past happen so fast?
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Thank you ever so much, Lillian. I’m glad you liked it. I’ve been away for three weeks, visiting family, and now I’m up to my eyeballs in work for a creative writing course (online) I’m taking at Univ of Iowa. Oh the fun of an agenda too full!
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I love how in this affecting quadrille you’ve brought together the two competing memories related to the coat. The final imagery is powerful in diverse ways. A lot to this piece and it took me by surprise in the best way.
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It's Still Life 
Your comments are always welcome