In the Willows

Intro: Savvi


I can still run
I know what’s around each corner,
no need for hesitation,
but if I stay too long
I might never go back.

Granddad couldn’t remember
how to go from hospital to house,
such vulnerability,
place names he lost
to scrabble, turned over blanks,
always starting a new game.
His Captain’s map
washed away in a blood clot.

So, I keep my hood up
never make eye contact,
long term memory
more precious than short.
I have my map
it’s crumpled,
stained with an old tea bag
for authenticity
and kept beneath the look
on Granddad’s face,
lest I should forget
how to get back to
these streets
and who gave me my name.

© savvi 2020
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critique and comments welcome.
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Nemo

I can’t keep reading your poems, Keith – they’re too good and make me feel inadequate. You make exactly the sort of word-leaps I’d like to make –
“I have my map
it’s crumpled,
stained with an old tea bag
for authenticity
and kept beneath the look
on Granddads face”

wonderful! And sad.

Cheers,
Gerald

Stormwolf

You do poignancy like few others Keith. I love your work.
Captain(‘)s Grandad(‘)s
You never fail to move me.
Alison x

TheRecluse

Like Alison, I too love your work. Always feels special, commanding several readings to take in all the deeper meanings of your word use, whether intentional, or spontaneously achieved, from thought to pen. Perusing other poetry sites shows just what a rare talent you have. Great read!
Best, Trevor

Shackleton

Sad and wonderful all rolled into one. A bit like granddad’s life I suspect.

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