Inflated memories of a nan

Home cooking, smell so pungent. Nostalgic even. 50’s housewife, pinafore, cooking in heels. Window open letting in a syrupy warm breeze. Carrying the smell to the neighbouring house, knock on the window. Instead of 1 there is now 3 for tea plus a toddler too. Fine china, flower patterns, gingham rag . Spuds, carrots, parsnips, thick gooey gravy. Scraps for the shaggy dog. Cat Is hovering nearby, meowing a soft familiar sound. Sniffing around the plates. SHOO! SCRAM! Claw screeching, THUD. Pleasantries said. Clinking of silver, the loudness of chewing and low level “mmm”’s. Silence. Warm kitchen, empty plates, full bellies, wide smiles. Thank you’s. Jelly and custard on the floor, “oh im so sorry, let me get that”, that gingham rag comes in useful. Cat already fighting the dog over who gets first lick, SHOO! “get ouuuut of it!!” cockney accent. Hugs and goodbyes, pinching of sweet cheeks. The washing up can wait.  Kicks of heels, AHHHH! Slips on slippers, falls helplessly onto moth eaten armchair. Silence. Cats slinks into the living room, climbs up arm chair. Snuggles onto lap. Dog sits by feet. All is quiet. Fur floating in the air. Wedding ring on an old swollen finger stroking that equally as old bony spine. Aniseed sweets, tobacco, mouldy furniture. Patch work quilt. Sweet life.

That freckle on your upper lip - a poem by me.

Sweet love, young love, not merely as young as we
thought,
a kind of love that haunts us both,
at night,
at dawn.

We can get through the day,

but not alone,
for our memories keep each other still,
that slow dance we shared, that letter we wrote
and both kept safe.

I try and refute it – I am at the point

of despair
things left unsaid, things better not said,
so reckless with your ways.

That stained sheet, that same dinner we shared,

that I eat over and over again, without you,
those dates on the calendar that are thus
insensitive to my heart.

Unspoken requited love, malicious and cruel –
audacious, long- suffering moody,
this love is sweetly sour; I don’t know if I prefer it?
i do know that when my mind is at its most erratic,
the thought of you sobers it sane.

that hawaiian shirt

that Hawaiian shirt you had hanging over your bed.
palm trees, the ocean, sun and sand.
I went up to it, buried my nose and my heart stopped.
after I took an inhale of the shirt my cerebrum pumped and pumped.
my body was shut off, all senses stopped, for a split second.
it jump started certain memories.
I smelt sand, I smelt sweat, I smelt love.
I saw flickers of holidays, a young me, an old you, people I had never seen before.
like I had lived a previous life, it was all black and white, maybe sepia.
had my life flashed before my eyes? one I had never seen before.
one I have been before? my feet were buried in the sand, I saw a sand castle.
I saw your smile.
it felt like I was in this place for a day or two, yet reality told me it was point 5 of a second.
I was naked when I picked up your Hawaiian shirt, I felt it caress my skin.
I put it on, it was huge, I resembled Tom Hanks from that film we loved, "Big".
the whole room was a glow, the image on the shirt was mirrored on the walls.
I sat and I smiled for a bit, I rubbed my shoulder against my chin.
it was a soft spot in "a place in the sun", warming my bare legs.
blues, oranges, yellows, greens and reds,
not the mean reds,
not the moody blues,
I took the shirt off, it was cold, it was silent.
I put it back over your bed and pulled the covers up close.
I thought of Monty and Liz.