I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

3 April 2010

Unpacking the Books

Did you think I would not
remember you?

Every time
I unpack the books anew

in the next new home,
I’m reminded. It’s true

I blame you for the damage.
That stupid boy too,

but you were the one
who yelled and stamped, who

insisted I not unpack
the boxes he’d wet through

watering along the edge of the verandah
where they were stacked. I knew

I could have saved them,
if I’d got them out quickly to dry in the sun.

‘There’s not enough room,’ you hissed.
I saw that there was. I’d already begun

prising the lid off the first. But I was tired,
you were loud and insistent. Well, done is done.

Or, in this case, not done, and when I finally
freed my treasures, mould and damp had won.

It’s long ago now, and here I am
settling in the final house with the final man.

I unpack the books for the last time,
observing the water marks yet again

still with the old pang, as sharp as ever.
You are fifteen years gone

and this treason not forgotten
among all the better reasons to remember you.

NaPoWriMo Day 3


  1. wonderful!

    in bed with married women

  2. huh. tis so. how sharply memories rise thru objects.

    that's clear and rich with material.