< 1 mn read
Always at the door, or tapping
at the window, it calls:
“Please let me in.”
In kisses and poems,
where unheard words
write unsent letters,
it calls out to me,
from books
that fall off shelves,
opening at pages
where phrases stand
like a wink caught sideways
on Goya’s Dona Isabel
as she sways her hips
as if to say
“Come, play with me.”
It beckons from silences,
between notes
in Mahler symphonies,
from wisps of foliage
with spindles
that catch and stay
in my skin
even as I walk
into my room
where I remember
journeys my toy cars took
over the carpet, out
into adventures in deserts,
across space and time
to life unfettered
by parents and schools.
Graham Mummery
From Meeting My Inners Pindrop Press (© 2015)
