Some Windows Don’t Close
I’m wearing my mother’s pearls.
I can feel her around my throat.
She put excuses into our public narrative,
an excuse for his behaviour, or maybe
an excuse for why she stayed and stayed.
She had these pearls
restrung after Dad died.
There was snow. I remember that.
I’d pushed my sister on a sledge.
She fell off, red rivers on her cheek.
And then he grabbed Mum’s throat.
Her pearl necklace broke.
Pearls rolling and bouncing on
the kitchen floor. Like hollow hope,
disappearing under the Frigidaire.
I just stood there. Soundless.
Caught in a constant hour. I am
still caught in that geometry.
I can feel her around my throat
when I wear my mother’s pearls.
What A Sight
The night sky is
covered in commas.
I have an appointment
with the optometrist
in two weeks.
None too soon.
Some binge-drinking yobs
went on a rampage last night.
Sprayed graffiti on the street.
It rained this morning.
Can’t read a word of it now.
is useful when eating a jar
of roasted peanuts.
Shared with @napowrimo @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay #napowrimo2021 on Twitter © Misky 2021