Empty spoons
on plates askance
and a centerpiece
bleeding heart.
A draught
that crept on to my doorstep.
My waterwell
mimicking my heart
that sank below…
A dried maize cob
with a thousand eyes
and as many questions…
Like why the spider
on his magnificent web
was so sad..?
and why
the door hinges
yearned.
It’s been a dad ago…
The chequered old windows
tirelessly beckon
listless lace curtains
embarrassingly
threadbare.
Behind my old
wooden stable
my old horse
wobbly at the knees
and sad-eyed
looks up
towards a patch of sky gone dark…
And my eyes
in a bizzare
treasure hunt
dart around
the simmering courtyard
to find a memory
of a rainy night
my dad died
in autumn leaves
and shriveled carnations.
A hint of damp soil
a trace of moist hope
wafts through the
poignant air…
the lace curtains wake up
ever so gently…
Maybe tonight
I’ll save my horse in
my wooden stable
…Maybe I’ll have dinner tonight
i’ll decorate my dinner table
with spoons
in plates with raised eyebrows
a centerpiece bleeding heart
… and a little
hope on the side…
Well
it’s been a dad ago…
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