Garden cuttings grew slowly
in my Aunt's back lawn.

She coaxed them with words
and wet tea-leaves,
watched them flourish one year
in sunlit rows.

Mum had no time for flowers,
looked warily
at this late harvest
from the Mother she adored.

Dried lavender
sifted into hand-sewn bags
we tucked beneath petticoats,
knickers, linen handkerchiefs.

Roses and pinks
filling clear glass vases,
scenting the house as though
Gran was close by,

had just stepped outside
to unpeg her washing.

I wonder what either shall think if they see this page?



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXIV)


How fuschia peers as from a slit cut thence
Twixt purplish navy racks low on the pale
West houses cluster 'fore in gloaming's frail
Eye, and down in the valley silence'd fence
Lo, neighbors' dogs set up a racket whence
I unpeg laundry that ne winds exhale
Through save by whispers, hoping yet for bail
When I can see Shaun, like tis not pretense.
One headline touted findings of why you're
Too fond of being online.  Well, I'll tell you:
Cuz breathing is more stale than we'll endure.
And wherefore is't that waking to Will's cue
Began this fine divorce from that?  In poor
Scuse I liked Shaun ere and what shall I do?

21Oct16e