Diane: in hospital and later
I would not have you prone, my dear, but up
And wiping plates, sharp-tongued, close at my side,
A kitchen critic, keen to laugh and slap
My washing-up techniques with woe betide.
Up from that narrow bed, to join lobelias
And ericas that may, we’re told, replace
Expensive box; then facing irises -
An auburn glow in cultivated space.
Dear, prone in bed is really not your bit,
For when you said “Well X is just a prat.”
Your head and shoulders helped augment the wit.
Down there they’re mute and now the wit is flat.
That was then. I wash dishes on my own
Untouched by auburn glow, the light quite flown.
8 comments:
Much better - I would have cried
This loving tribute touches a place in my heart that hasn't been touched for too long a time.
The poetry that comes from your heart is your best work, BB. The photo you posted here adds to the poignancy of your words.
Deep feeling beautifully contained.
What a sad activity--washing dishes alone. What a lovely, accessible quirky poem.
From your heart, I have no doubt.
The depth that is to be found in everyday activities when shared.
All: Something curious emerged. Diane was Mrs BB's sister, my sister-in-law. Mrs BB is quite free to read or ignore Works Well but on this occasion she read the sonnet and told me she liked it. It was only then that I realised the sonnet was addressed quite specifically to her. And yet I was completely unaware of this while I was putting it together and for an hour or two after I had posted. Odd, that.
All: Sorry, my comment wasn't at all clear. The sonnet is clearly addressed to Diane; what I meant to say was that the subsconsciously intended audience was Mrs BB.
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