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')

This blog is not, 'Here are my very best poems'. It's for work in progress, subject to revision.
Posts may be updated without notice at any time. Completed work appears in my books.

26 April 2011

The Last Person I Pinky Promised

Well, I don’t know who you are
but it must have been long ago.
I have forgotten the promise too.

And I’m sure we didn’t call it ‘pinky’.
We didn’t have that word here then.
It came across from America later.

We would simply have linked
our littlest fingers and pulled them
tight, to set the promise.

It wasn’t done in my core family.
Maybe you were my cousin Anne
who brought exotic ways from overseas.

Maybe you were my Aunty Ev,
half friend, half substitute mother,
teaching me innocent fun I never knew.

And maybe you were the son
who grew up to become a stranger —
when you were still a youngster, and my pal.

These maybes are too full of loss.
Both life and death take people away,
and the promises we made just disappear.

So I’ll say you were a little girl at school.
Probably you sat next to me. The promise
was something we’d never tell. See, I didn’t.


Day 26 - The last person you made a pinky promise to


Oct 1 2011: Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #68

2 comments:

  1. And maybe you were the son
    who grew up to become a stranger —
    when you were still a youngster, and my pal.

    How sad these words are to read - but logically those 'small people' we call children were always strangers in one sense. We parents are the ones who think we 'know' them - and later realise it was only ever our perception, not a fact...

    ReplyDelete