Heres a great poem by Neil Flatman, destined for the next Anthology (with his permission) Goats Climb Trees As usual I arrived at an inauspicious time; just when youd decided to suck up all the webs behind the curtains and those that hang like Spanish Moss along the coving and in corners. You didn’t wear your hearing aids so I had to shout, which would have looked comical to anyone who didn’t know. Me barking every mundane word, promontory head advanced, to save the rounds falling short, their arc depressed by friction. Youd just polished the Bhudda on the sideboard and told me once again how you stumbled on it when the Japs fled the camp, laying on its side in a makeshift shrine of fresh bamboo. As I listened you drifted, fingers lingering on it’s mottled bun and it dawned on me; you can long for a past of desperation and hunger, of loss and defining moments, of reasons to want to live.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Oct 2013 14:09:17 +0000
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