
Hidden Letters in a Sock Drawer
Windermere peaks
are a perfect place to cry, I tell her.
And she is.
A calm breeze rocks our small boat,
this lake where poets and writers
come to live. And create. And die.
The air is on the edge of lifeless,
and the sun catches on Mum’s
wedding ring that hangs
loose on my sister’s finger.
It’s like Mum reminding me
that a heart is glass.
I have this peculiar thing about
wearing dead people’s jewellery.
It’s probably a Dickensian thing,
like history throwing a shadow
over itself, or discovering that
your mum kept all your letters
in her sock drawer along with
her wedding ring.
Image is Landscape in the Lake District by John Atkinson Grimshaw. Public Domain on WikiArt. Shared with #amwriting and #apoemaday on Twitter ©Misky 2021
14 responses to “Hidden Letters in a Sock Drawer”
Beautiful. I agree 100% about Windermere! Happy New Year 😊
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And happy new year to you, too! 🥰
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Beautiful. I felt as if I was swathed in soft light and the shadows of confusing memories and feelings.
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I was in an odd mood yesterday. I wasn’t particularly sad, but the slightest thing soaked me in tears. Even the ads on telly!! Even the Coke ad for goodness sake… 😂
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LOL. I feel close to tears a lot atm. I blame it on weariness.
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Our memories are so important, aren’t they. Happy New Year, and we can already see that you are maintaining the high standard of your gorgeous poetry!🥂
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Thank you. Is the Mrs home?
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Yes, back home recovering. Thanks for asking.💖
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Good. Hope all goes well.
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Thank you!
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Sock drawer discoveries + Lake District revelations = wonderful things.
Well done, Misky.
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Thank you, Nick, and a very happy new year to you.
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That ending really pulled at my heart. This is absolutely beautiful.
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Thank you.
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