the sun flowers
and sheds its petalled light
into the corners
of our unswept lives
I said this morning that yesterday was grey, with little to recommend it. Today has not been much better, although I suppose it must be slightly brighter and less grey, if only because it has been a day of domesticity: I have been washing and ironing, sweeping and dusting, scrubbing, mopping and polishing.
Although they are not seasonal, I have personal reasons for wanting to post sunflowers today – bright and strong, vividly and joyously celebratory.
The poem below is rather too niggling and critical to fit with that sentiment, but it does suit the domestic mood.
She slips between the bedroom curtains,
steals across the floor and peeks
into the bathroom.
hangs in the air above
a crumpled towel.
Methodically, she checks
the other rooms in turn.
her fingertips along the shelves,
frowns at the dust, reflects
he’s not exactly what you’d call
By mid afternoon,
she’s in the kitchen where she finds
a pile of coffee cups and plates
stagnating on the draining board.
She watches as milk curdles
and bread turns to dust.
before the boy gets home, so
can only guess about the evenings
when a star-specked sky provides
the backdrop for his romance
with the moon.