i.
On the other side
of the mountain,
birds fell from the sky
like stones,
people walked alone
in strange zig-zag patterns
pale and distraught,
and of course
everything was black and white
like an old movie,
except this would
have no happy ending.
Then like a bolt from the blue
– if there had been any blue –
it dawned on me,
this was for real.
This was my home town.
ii.
I found a little shop
that sold cups without saucers
run by a man
that I thought was my father,
he said that he’d known me
before the disaster,
but now we were all on our own.
He gave me a cup by way of
a keepsake,
he said I was suffering from
some kind of heartache,
the cup had a crack
and couldn’t hold anything
now we were all on our own.
iii.
When the colours came back
they came back without blue,
back to a world that was
riven right through
just for an instant,
then all turned to black
but the cup with a crack
which was blue.
Blue is the colour
that I still remember,
as catching my eye
above all the others
when I was a child
beholding the heavens
blue beyond blue
– if there had been any blue –
blue beyond blue
beyond blue.
This is wonderful. I really enjoyed reading it.
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Many thanks for your generous comment. It is much appreciated!
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Reblogged this on Another Way of Saying.
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One of the very best poems I’ve read today!
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Such a lovely comment to receive – thanks so much!
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Wonderfully put! Loved it.
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Thanks so much for your positive comment – I really appreciate it. This poem virtually wrote itself.
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