A babble of memories

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In a corner of my head the light is soft,

And heat falls, a gentle hand

To coax cold lizard blood.

In a corner, dark as all the past,

A memory, blue and green

Swells and sways to a fluting song

And flutters with a thousand birds’ wings.

Though I am not there to see,

The trees grow tall and throw a summer shade,

The grass coarse and dry beneath the sun

Flickers with insect dances.

Life squirms and laughs with quiet joy

Uncaring of my absence,

But if I close my eyes tight against the glare

And stop my ears against the brutalising din,

I can see jays swoop across the meadow

And hear the babble of the brook.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

10 thoughts on “A babble of memories”

    1. Thanks Betty. There is a lot between the lines, mainly a profound disgust with so much of what I see around me, and a longing to be where I can hear something other than noisy, drunken people bellowing at one another. Just a few more weeks to wait…

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