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terry-collettPoems
Her parents are rowing. Alice hides in a door way of the semi-dark passage, pressing her back against the door's old wood. His baritone bark, her mother's soprano screech, words reaching beyond walls hold and depth. She closes her eyes against the dimness and half light, to hear more or better. She has evaded the nanny's search, ignored the siren's voice, had hidden and smiled. The row goes on, voices higher, her ears catch at sounds that float her way. Far off, she hears the nanny's voice grow more desperate in the morning search. She misses her mother's touch and hold, misses the bedtime reads and kisses, instead, the nanny bids her goodnight and shuts out the light with neither kiss or hold or any caress as her mother gave. Silence greets her ears; the row has ceased. The semi-dark embraces her unkindly, her closed eyes bring no comfort to her mind. A bang and slam, the row restarts, Alice opens her eyes to the semi-dark, the vibrating voice of her father's bark. A slither of light appears from the passageway beyond, one walks slow along the carpet's length, footsteps soft against the rowing sounds. The thin maid appears, stands gawking, hands red and thin by her narrow sides. What you doing here? Alice shrugs. Come, the maid says, this is no place for tender ears to wait. Alice hesitates, then, taking the proffered hand walks along the semi-dark, the voices like the drowned upon the sea, then off along the lower regions of the house, where sounds don't reach so wild, for one such as she, a little child.
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Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
ALICE AND THE ROW.
Her parents are rowing. Alice hides in a door way of the semi-dark passage, pressing her back against the door's old wood. His baritone bark, her mother's soprano screech, words reaching beyond walls hold and depth. She closes her eyes against the dimness and half light, to hear more or better. She has evaded the nanny's search, ignored the siren's voice, had hidden and smiled. The row goes on, voices higher, her ears catch at sounds that float her way. Far off, she hears the nanny's voice grow more desperate in the morning search. She misses her mother's touch and hold, misses the bedtime reads and kisses, instead, the nanny bids her goodnight and shuts out the light with neither kiss or hold or any caress as her mother gave. Silence greets her ears; the row has ceased. The semi-dark embraces her unkindly, her closed eyes bring no comfort to her mind. A bang and slam, the row restarts, Alice opens her eyes to the semi-dark, the vibrating voice of her father's bark. A slither of light appears from the passageway beyond, one walks slow along the carpet's length, footsteps soft against the rowing sounds. The thin maid appears, stands gawking, hands red and thin by her narrow sides. What you doing here? Alice shrugs. Come, the maid says, this is no place for tender ears to wait. Alice hesitates, then, taking the proffered hand walks along the semi-dark, the voices like the drowned upon the sea, then off along the lower regions of the house, where sounds don't reach so wild, for one such as she, a little child.
terry-collett
Written by
terry-collett
English
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
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