Hi Sally,
Interesting re-working going on here...
I think I'd prefer her to be sipping, not drinking, the beer. No, you've got
sipping earlier in the poem haven't you! It's just that drinks is such an
unfeeling word in a sentence that's filled with feeling. Thesaurus time, I
guess...
Bob
>From: Sally James <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Revises poem Home for Christmas
>Date: Sat, 18 Dec 2004 05:00:57 +0000
>
>Thanks to eveyone who replied with crits sorry I haveny replied persoanlly
>but have revised aftre comments. I am in a bit of a muddle with Christmas
>at the moment.
>
>
>Home for Christmas
>
>She sits in her chair
>settles to watch the soap
>sips tea from a china cup.
>Snug in her dressing gown
>she smells of bath oil, and lavender
>hot buttered toast and good books.
>Bubbles like baubles still fizz in grey curls
>and her glasses, half mooned
>steam at the end of her nose.
>
>A ring on the doorbell
>and she shuffles down the hall
>her frame one step ahead.
>With a draught and a flurry of white
>her grandson arrives
>wearing civvies and a smile.
>“Have a can nan” he laughs
>opening the beer with a spurt
>from cold trigger fingers.
>
>A loose tail wags the dog
>till the welcome becomes
>a curl at his feet.
>They sit together on the sofa
>watch the soap evaporate
>bubbles pop on pine.
>He searches the twinkle of tree
>for his present, places hers beneath.
>She drinks beer from the can
>wipes tears from her eyes
>sees the unshed ones in his.
>
>sally james
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