Childhood in the garden
Childhood in the garden
carpets of flowers
for memories
vibrant, alive
a woven emotion
our family garden
we had our own space
south facing
blazing sun trap warm
the sanctuary for saplings
and bird calls
for grazed knees green
and sprawled shawls
on cut grass
basking we watched swallows
under wing grew
in awe
a family
carved from the mothering hand
the grandiose and the grand
forged fathers
the bedding plants
and the final stand
of children
slowly
died
when we dropped Tonka toys
for remote controls
and tiny tears
for repayment fears
outgrew the room
and waited for the roll call to leave
18 inevitable, Mother
we have become swallows
trapped
asphalt
purchased
Black
only little flowers here…
we are missing children
the warm garden feeling relapse
mums flowers petals huge
that summer dress
the blue violet hues
the praying pews of nature
your flower beds
yield
wreaths
slung on silent motors black
I made your name the last time
We finger traced it together
Like a running raindrop game
On a window
this pain of leaving
her voice distant
that laughter of motherhood
a melancholic memory
our childhood in the garden
carpets of flowers
for memories
vibrant, alive
a woven emotion
our family garden
we had our own space
south facing
blazing sun trap warm
the sanctuary for saplings
and bird calls
for grazed knees green
and sprawled shawls
on cut grass
basking we watched swallows
under wing grew
in awe
a family
carved from the mothering hand
the grandiose and the grand
forged fathers
the bedding plants
and the final stand
of children
slowly
died
when we dropped Tonka toys
for remote controls
and tiny tears
for repayment fears
outgrew the room
and waited for the roll call to leave
18 inevitable, Mother
we have become swallows
trapped
asphalt
purchased
Black
only little flowers here…
we are missing children
the warm garden feeling relapse
mums flowers petals huge
that summer dress
the blue violet hues
the praying pews of nature
your flower beds
yield
wreaths
slung on silent motors black
I made your name the last time
We finger traced it together
Like a running raindrop game
On a window
this pain of leaving
her voice distant
that laughter of motherhood
a melancholic memory
our childhood in the garden
Francine
Sat 29th Aug 2009 04:18
Absolutely beautiful Peter...
So much heartfelt emotion in these last lines:
'I made your name the last time
We finger traced it together
Like a running raindrop game
On a window
this pain of leaving
her voice distant
that laughter of motherhood
a melancholic memory
our childhood in the garden'