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  I decided one day that
I needed another childhood.
I found, propped on a market stall,
a sepia photograph of a man.
He was turning sideways, his eyes
full of soft, amused beneficence.
I wanted him as my father, so I bought him
and began the resculpting of my life -
the fine china covered in roses collected
from charity shops filled my kitchen
and became the old china that my mother
saved for me. The pretty cups and saucers,
plates that she often spoke of, that I would
appreciate, that would be just right for me.
The china that after my mother’s death,
simply was not there, though I searched
her house, her kitchen cupboards,
my sister’s eyes. They were not there.
But now I have them, drawn from a dozen lost
households, they rest on my shelf and smile their
flowered faces. Simple redefinition.
Look, a green rabbit from my grandfather’s house,
this gold bangle, worn by my grandmother since
she turned twenty one. It was that easy.
 
 

 

Robert Hope

 
 

 
 
 
 

Notice The Festival

Let’s join the everyday festival -
the festival of street people walking
the festival of café people talking
the festival of bears, all kinds
the festival of waiting, a quieter pace
of clock watching, tick tock, leg shifting
the festival of sighs, all around, notice
the festival of feet, of shoes
the festival of beaks and paws
the festival of wings and berries
the festival of reflections with windows, water,
of horizons, of chimneys, of roof-life
the festival of leaves, of crowds,
of small blades of grass,
of glints in eyes
the festival all over the city.
 

Michelle Doust