The Dwellin’ Place
Image Credit: ABANDONED NI BLOG
A torn net curtain dressed in
Cobweb splendour
Its flowery pattern
Still daintily pretty against the
Small reflective panes
An empty dwellin’ place without
Her hand to clean and care for it
Mode of transport caresses the snowcem
Often on its handlebars she journeyed
Until we reached the railway crossing
Then fear of the wagging tongues
Bade her walk sedately
The next mile to town
On our return
The dynamo’s flickering light
Cast shadows of the night
Across the path of the old bike
Until the mouth of the lane
With it rutted terrain came into sight
The smell of the peat fire scented
The quiet gloamin’
Smoke weaving heavenwards
Welcomed us home like an old friend
The door knocker – an antique now
It’s a while since its creaking opening
Received a letter from America
The treasured stamp displaying prosperity
Recounting the letter’s content
When the wind howled around
The gavel end rattling the bike’s chain
Stealing the slates in its childish tantrum
An empty dwellin’ without her hand
To clean and care for it
GC Hill 2017
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Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 