What I like about this is the rambling nature of it, which I think is
intentional. Like a potted family history all the regrets, the wrong paths
taken ,the gentle recriminations.Regards Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bousfield, Christine [CES]" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, November 10, 2002 5:38 PM
Subject: sub-secret
> Dear All
> an oldish poem revised a few times. Folk tell me it's too short for all
that
> information and they want to hear from uncle-but I'm stuck and I like the
> almost sonnet look. What do you think?
> BW
> Christine
>
> Secret
>
> Her twins lived a few hours; her daughter,
> named Verity for a dead sister,
> married a young airman in New York State
> who deserted for a bimbo on the Internet.
>
> My aunt strained her eyes penning airmail,
> washable blue Quink in sloping letters,
> knitting tea-cosies and babies' leggings,
> baking fatless sponges for chapel bazaars.
>
> We slept on clouds of goose feathers
> in their attic in County Durham,
> white lace pillowslips scented like gardens;
>
> I never cared for her much after Gretchen,
> Uncle said at her funeral. Should've stayed
> in Germany in forty five. We never got on.
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