Monday, 23 January 2017

WORK IN PROGRESS plus a poem

MANUSCRIPT TO BE ON EDITOR'S DESK BY END OF MARCH.  Oh my goodness, what did I promise back in November? Did I forget how hard it is to get all the poems together and then edit and re-edit and maybe edit some more - it's like herding chickens - and it is summer outside! I have on my table here 60+ poems (remembering that they are really 60+ minimal stories) that then have to be put into a sequence to make some sort of coherence to tell a bigger story.

The editing is finally done. The shuffling of poems into a sequence has started, clipped together in groupings, and over the next week I am sure I'll shuffle and shuffle again until I am content - not until then will come putting all the editing from hard copies onto computer and transfer all the poems into a new file.

Mothers’ Day 

In the café
at a table
sits a girl and a man.
She is around twenty
- a granddaughter perhaps?
to the businessman image
who casually reports
to why the graze on his face.
It is nothing –
he had parked the car,
it was dark, a branch,
that’s how it was done,
and he continues to eat.

She lifts the corner of her napkin
and carefully spits on the corner,
“there, there, all better,”
as she dabs the wet to his cheek.

(The mother-words, the mother-cure
for the hurts and bumps of little boys)

His deep lined face falls askew
- without a sound
he cries
and cries
and cries

She is nonplussed.

What did she do?

Copyright: from "DAISY HILL-  home is where the hat is."

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