Today I pulled some weeds up from between the paving in front of my father's front door
I wore my best clothes now trainers and a jumper over jeans.
Sunday the day for church for rest for a roast dinner
We had tea and I buttered a cherry scone
Threw a crust out to the hens clucking around the back door
I had no interesting stories to say as my 94 year old father sat doing a crossword
Flat words no words lost words empty of all chatter
I looked out the windows there are 3 in the kitchen and a 4th one facing the apple trees
Sunday is to me a space that used to be a drive to early morning mass a newspaper and visitor maybe
Sunday best has become leftover food on a plate pushed to the edge of a broken ledge.
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Author:
R.cdmoore (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 18th, 2021 15:54
- Comment from author about the poem: When i was a child I remember Sunday's being rushed to car to drive the 4 miles to chaple with my parents and siblings The smell of strong incense and candles kneeling on hard wood and sitting still .A nip on the leg for talking and the priest giving me a disc on my tongue that stuck to the roof of my mouth.A stop at shop for newspaper and a block of ice cream My mother's roast beef and cabbage of which is push to edge of my plate hoping it would fall off
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 58
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