It was the very end of summer and they journeyed with him to the far west, and, bright-breasted as a flock of young starlings, descended on our hideaway.
Chattering as they came,
scattering indiscriminately
bags, books, bottles laughter and kisses,
they upturned our days and by night resembled a herd of baby elephants, making music in the attic.
And then, just as suddenly, they left and the attic became an haiku...
When he's gone...
Abseiling spiders
coffee-cup, abandoned book
and one forgotten sock...
The year has turned and turned again.
Hope, like all the other clichés, is springing-up all around. In spite of myself, I am restless, stirred.
I feel...what is the word?
I search my vocabulary.
I search the magnet-messages they left on the fridge for each other, for me.
Ah, here it is...
I am, I must admit "en-daffodil-hearted"
This was written as an entry to a challenge set by poet and creative writing teacher Roselle Angwin...to write a prose poem about spring without the usual references to daffodils and the like.
ReplyDeleteI am thrilled to be joint winner!!