Friday, November 29, 2013

Friday (Not) Original Poem

I thought that since many of us are cozily ensconced (or not) in the bosoms of our families this weekend, this was a perfect poem.


The damp had got its grip years ago
But gone unnoticed.  The heads of the joists
Feathered slowly in the cavity wall
And the room’s wet belly had begun to bow

Once we’d ripped the boards up, it all came out:
The smell atfirst, then the crumbling wood
Gone to seed, all its muscles wasted.
You pottered back and to with tea, soda bread,

Eighty years shaking on a plastic tray.
One by one we looked up, nodded and then slipped
Under the floor. We moved down there like fish
In moonlight, or divers on an old ship.

-Sean Hewitt

No comments:

Post a Comment