Beast of burden
A heavy horse I swing my legs,
haul my slumped cargo in its cart,
pushed along to garden chairs.
Offer me cake to help me mend
cut off the crusts for afternoon tea,
I’ll tremble crumbs for sparrows
while you flap wrapping blankets.
I want to stay outside,
cold is a differential
measured between hands
that will pull me back in
before the light condenses
and our sighs become visible
Your story is quickly told,
standing silent in the field
a vignette in my arid soil.
I stole your best pages.
Spit polish your shoes
switch on the sign,
slip loose from the yoke.
I will wilt quietly tonight
ready to take your morning guilt
and another flower from your dress.
© savvi 2023
I am not quite sure where you are going with this, it’s a bit too cryptic for me, could you give me a small insight so I can read it again and understand more. Sue.
Hi Sue thanks for your comment. This on is about a wheel chair bound elderly mother and daughter who has always looked after her, I was trying to explore a sense of guilt and tension between them, one from the mothers perspective and the enviable odd nights off when the daughter would stay out for the night and feel guilty in the morning. It’s another classic example of what’s in my head doesn’t make the page , but thanks for trying Sue. Best Keith
Old age I think, the terms of engagement between the old and those who wait in the wings. That’s what I get and I like it a lot.
Hi Mike thanks for your comment, you have the sense of it I think. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. Best Keith