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Image for the poem Spilling’s of Childhood Summers

Spilling’s of Childhood Summers

We teased bees to sting peaches
Collecting stingers in a jam jar.
By winter, string of needle suicide
Festered a glassed bloodsmell,
Entombed beside tins of peaches.
We are never far from the hiraeth hive.

***

In the Land of Her Many Fathers
Siobhan begged her Nain to
Teach her how to smile.
‘We smile from here,’ she replied -
Pointing at her nicotine stained heart.
Their Bible, always open, smelt of
Tobacco and bacon grease.

***

Shade stung, old man in Panama hat
Brimmed his non-returning days
With a lightness of bird wing, which
Flamed his ember’ed vision.
Squawking names of objects in the sky.

He spoke by holding an electric box to his throat
Alien voice-scape, robotic chatter of tin cans,
Throat-back, rack of spare ribs, loose spined
In a dust coloured suit.

Squall hair of his wife nested in the windows
Italian vowels formed in chipped tea cups,
“She eats children after midnight,” snarled Johnny,
Looking at his digital watch.

His Panama hat slipped
Sideways when he slept.

***

White cube on Promenade
Beared pallid body of drowned
Girl in yellow dress, by whom
Without whom, the mute ambulance
Marched to muffled drum of the silent mouths
Triggered to tell the news of death in the morning.

And unto her,
Limbs clung to sodden marigold
Like lichen to shingle streets,
A stranger drowned in small memory:
Wisps of blonde hair
As kite strings moored to the breeze.

Silver coins for eyes, flipped to longest stare,
Knees slightly raised to enfold an unknown world  
Almost in payer, as if she should apologise for all this:
Fountains burst towards heaven
Falling back like shillings from a slot machine.

And soon,
She was out of all her days.
Written by Strangeways_Rob
Published
Author's Note
ERULGCT #102. Uma xx Culled from long non-fiction piece. Pic - Family album. Hiraeth - unique Welsh word for deep homesickness.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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