Absolutely stunning – I wish I’d written it!
No End of Blue Things
The bone china mug you drank from every morning
we’ve retired like a shirt;
an exhibition of blouses, perfume-faint,
hung behind a door I dare not open.
For coastal walks a darker coat,
the cursive waves, more grey than blue.
Allotment skies in April, May,
your riderless bike, desolate tools.
Archived to the loft, decorations nest in boxes:
each Christmas brought a new one for the girls.
By your bedside cabinet
a special collection of books; silver chain
meandering as a river from a plane,
icon of phone;
and a late portrait, a gift
from the gallery our lives curate:
last holiday, you’re toying
with an ice cream. Soon we’ll be listening
to world music, water songs of harp and kora,
the lit cathedral swimming.
.
Jeff Skinner’s poems have appeared in the Morning Star, the Stare’s Nest, Crowsfeet, Clear Poetry, Ground Poetry, The Open…
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