Dear all,
This week’s poem is by Pat Tempest, thanks for sharing this with us Pat.
‘Holy Relics’
Rooting in the dressing table,
bored, on a wet afternoon,
the kids rediscover my little hoard,
nestling amongst the hankies –
and they plead,
‘Go on, tell us again’.
Complicit,
witchlike,
I begin the litany:
There’s my fragmented gallstone
and the stitch which emerged from my side
six weeks after the other twenty-eight were snipped,
and here’s the blackened toenail
which dropped off
when you were knee high
Enough!
Wheezing, gasping, crying,
legs crossed,
sides aching,
they are screaming, drunk
with glee
My kids have done it again.
With the cleansing laughter
these once holy relics of my suffering
have been rendered forever comic
Thank you Pat
