The bombsite beckoned
daily as I hung over
the iron railings
dividing our worlds, and
watched
as you
clambered
among the debris.
A skeleton building
whose ragged walls
pointed upwards
accusingly.
Territory forbidden
due to
unforseen dangers
I longed to explore.
It was, however,
imperative
that I remained
housebound
to save my
skinny knees
from grazing
or scuffing of my
white T-bar sandals
or, heaven forbid,
from unexploded
joy.
You were older
and not female
and therefore,
inevitably,
free of
the
need
to be
careful.
What makes you think of these, Penny? You put me in that little girl's T-bar sandals, watching the lad enjoying the new dangerous environment.
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Oh Sweet Jo, they are just tiny fragments of memory that spill out onto the page. I was a secret poet for years - not so secret anymore now that I can share them here and have been lucky that they are so warmly received, I'm feeling much braver about them. Thanks for your encouragement petal. pen x
ReplyDeleteI love the pictures you 'paint' with your words, Pen. A wonderful poem. Thanks for sharing it.
ReplyDeleteWow! This is really beautiful. Powerful and strong with an interesting ending - Bravo! AND thank you for your sweet birthday message to my little one, xoxo
ReplyDeleteLove the way your words just flow over my mind creating delightful pictures...thank you
ReplyDeleteYou paint a vivid picture with your wonderful words Pen! x
ReplyDeletewow, this is so powerful and very interesting end
ReplyDeletethis reminds me of my dads tales of when he used to play on bomb sites and with shrapnel after the war
ReplyDeleteBonjour Betsy/Penny:) I wanted to drop in and say "Merci beaucoup" for visiting my blog and leaving a comment on Marie's tutorial for the clay frame. I've so enjoyed reading your poetry!! The beekeeper one is delightfully full of double meaning:)
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