POEM 1
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EXCHANGE
Like something gone, a thumb-size
doll smothered in sand or a two
summers ago favourite dress shoved away
with the table cloths, I had a notion
that something important was lost.
It was the silences that gave me clues,
the way they built and filled a room.
The way one laid on top of another,
became the impossible to shift shell
of an old motor.
Then there was her face, grey
as a newspaper left out in a storm,
the soft shuffle of slippers, taking
the nap from the carpet, and those
endless heavy-smelling roast dinners.
He kept his distance but turned up
for meals, then went to sleep, like
the cat. The garden was his place.
He planted onion sets and early
seed potatoes before anyone else.
Somehow, in the quiet of the cold
back bedroom, with its sad pillows
and kidney-shaped dresser, she got
pregnant and bluebells appeared
in a jar on the kitchen shelf.
He bought a chicken coop and talked
to the birds. Inside words became
the difficult to understand coinage of
a foreign currency, spent in tiny amounts
to be sure it lasted the whole holiday.