One morning, gripped, I woke,
Alone.
Mine now. All of it.
My Beach, my views, my crocuses, my bricks.
Right down to my rotting gates.
Repaired, restored.
I’d chopped out the dead wood, spliced in new.
No joins, smoothed edges, fresh paint and re-hung.
“You wouldn’t even have known you’d been here”.
But I knew.
And I know.
One morning, freed, I woke
Together.
Love’d wrenched it from my greedy grasp.
called me home
saved me from the clutch of possession,
that had played me on that secular table,
And yet with years of forgets, still I wallow
before my rusting, blistering gates.
before my sacrifice;
and I stare, hollow.
Forgotten, convenient, and functional,
the Sanderson’s, have it now,
up from the smoke for the occasional,
with their Waitrose bags, their boat in tow.
Our sunshine front door, turned all
Farrow & Ball.
The old potted spruce lies abandoned by the cold North Wind.
A new oil tank plonked slap bang in the middle
of Amy’s sacred garden!
of my revered View!
Sacrilege.
Old love is all it has.
Time is forgetting again.
Amy didn’t
I won’t
Maybe, some day, the Sanderson’s will open their hearts
and remember this home again.
Written by Graeme Davidson © 2017 for the HOME project in collaboration with RESIDE Dance at Rising Sun Arts Centre
Alone.
Mine now. All of it.
My Beach, my views, my crocuses, my bricks.
Right down to my rotting gates.
Repaired, restored.
I’d chopped out the dead wood, spliced in new.
No joins, smoothed edges, fresh paint and re-hung.
“You wouldn’t even have known you’d been here”.
But I knew.
And I know.
One morning, freed, I woke
Together.
Love’d wrenched it from my greedy grasp.
called me home
saved me from the clutch of possession,
that had played me on that secular table,
And yet with years of forgets, still I wallow
before my rusting, blistering gates.
before my sacrifice;
and I stare, hollow.
Forgotten, convenient, and functional,
the Sanderson’s, have it now,
up from the smoke for the occasional,
with their Waitrose bags, their boat in tow.
Our sunshine front door, turned all
Farrow & Ball.
The old potted spruce lies abandoned by the cold North Wind.
A new oil tank plonked slap bang in the middle
of Amy’s sacred garden!
of my revered View!
Sacrilege.
Old love is all it has.
Time is forgetting again.
Amy didn’t
I won’t
Maybe, some day, the Sanderson’s will open their hearts
and remember this home again.
Written by Graeme Davidson © 2017 for the HOME project in collaboration with RESIDE Dance at Rising Sun Arts Centre