deepundergroundpoetry.com
Levitation
The kitchen was always in winter—its pantry
full of shadows, odours washed in damp soil
and bagged in the fields, picked-at,
white boned carcasses draped
in tea towels set aside to rest.
Its thin air wafted sweetness that drizzled
on cooling cakes and offered a promise of fresh
rye bread.
The worn down work tops cut away to hands
that rolled out pastry, and set liquid jelly
outside to cool in the drifting snow.
A bottomless Belfast sink bubbled above
a makeshift step, positioned to deploy child-
labour onto chores.
Its walls gleamed with fired-green tiles
crafted flat, almost without seams.
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child looked along their
mirrored finish, cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
full of shadows, odours washed in damp soil
and bagged in the fields, picked-at,
white boned carcasses draped
in tea towels set aside to rest.
Its thin air wafted sweetness that drizzled
on cooling cakes and offered a promise of fresh
rye bread.
The worn down work tops cut away to hands
that rolled out pastry, and set liquid jelly
outside to cool in the drifting snow.
A bottomless Belfast sink bubbled above
a makeshift step, positioned to deploy child-
labour onto chores.
Its walls gleamed with fired-green tiles
crafted flat, almost without seams.
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child looked along their
mirrored finish, cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
Published 14th Oct 2019
| Edited 18th Oct 2019
Author's Note
weekends at my grans house when growing up
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 1
comments 8
reads 567
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
15th Oct 2019 1:49am
for me, perfection:
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child looked along their
mirrored finish, cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child looked along their
mirrored finish, cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
18th Oct 2019 8:19pm
15th Oct 2019 9:58pm
The scene absolutely comes to life in the way you describe it. It emanates the nostalgic intimacy of memory. Its a joy to be absorbed into.
18th Oct 2019 8:20pm
Daniel really appreciate the feedback, and so happy it work how you describe
16th Oct 2019 00:23am
This was an absolute delight, totally relatable. I remember those crates; my brother and I used them well to wash and dry dishes. This is such a vivid scene where only a child or poet would pay so much homage to the tiny detail. The pantry full of shadows is eerie because it's actually how I used to view them. . .
butters nailed where I had an issue reading aloud. You have two ideas and no pause between them for the reader to absorb.
Its walls gleamed with fired green tiles <-- I would hyphenate fired-green
crafted flat, almost without seams.
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child
looked along their mirrored finish,
cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
I looked back at butters' suggestion and realized it was almost identical to my initial thought when reading it!
butters nailed where I had an issue reading aloud. You have two ideas and no pause between them for the reader to absorb.
Its walls gleamed with fired green tiles <-- I would hyphenate fired-green
crafted flat, almost without seams.
Stood in the doorway
between two poems, a child
looked along their mirrored finish,
cast a spell—one arm one leg—
the words said, his body lifted off the ground.
I looked back at butters' suggestion and realized it was almost identical to my initial thought when reading it!
18th Oct 2019 8:21pm
Really appreciate the help with this one and it is all great advice, I have made the changes. Pleased you could connect with this one.
Anonymous
- Edited 4th Mar 2020 1:45pm
17th Oct 2019 11:43pm
<< post removed >>
18th Oct 2019 8:22pm
