My response to this week’s Tipsy Lit weekly prompt is an open form, object poem- head on over to the blog to read other contributors and be inspired to join in the conversation and start flexing your writing muscles!
The Gift That He Gave Her
Brass coloured, grooved and small enough to turn
over and over with fingers and thumb.
It fitted in my six-year-old palm, snug and safe.
Lighter fluid long dried up, tiny winding mechanism cogged and stuttering -
jammed like her heart, from one last over-enthusiastic crank.
It used to play ‘La Vie en Rose’ in prickly tinkling tones
that carried me up above,
the shouting slanging screaming matches.
‘A Souvenir From Jersey’ – this once lit my mother’s cigarettes,
discarded long after the honeymoon period had ended,
when the dog lay down by the fire to die, and she gave up the fags,
and he gave up her,
and forgot about me.
(One of my favourite object poems is “Smoke” you can listen to Jacob Polley reading it here)