An interesting memory narrative, Caleb. I'm not sure of the long lines,
almost prose, in the first stanza; it seems to pick up 'speed' toward
the end, & that leads to a sardonic understatement that works.
Doug
On 9-Jan-07, at 7:44 PM, Caleb Cluff wrote:
> Off Marrickville Road
>
> We lived, you know.
> We lived in a big house, owned by Greek greengrocers. We laughed at
> that.
> They gave us fruit, and vegetables, and dyed eggs at Easter.
> There was a rusted rocketship outside our bedroom window,
> a swimming pool in the park. One summer council built a roof over it,
> charged double entry.
> We climbed the fence naked at night, and weren't alone.
>
> In summer, we slept on the grass.
> I went to the shop in my dressing gown, unconcerned.
> You laced your shoes with black ribbons and made me undo them.
> A housemate brought home a sack of potatoes because they were cheap.
> The smell of them rotting.
> I learned to make coffee, eat chillies, score.
> A pane of glass fell from a window and didn't break.
>
> At 21, 22, 23 I loved you more completely.
> The lino on our floor was torn. We made a special room of sheets.
> Our lovers were leaves disappearing through the floorboards.
> Some had soundtracks, one was an opera singer.
> You seduced her on the couch, called her Dame Odalisque,
> while I watched from the floor like a child.
> We were children. We had smack. We lived.
>
>
>
>
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Douglas Barbour
11655 - 72 Avenue NW
Edmonton Ab T6G 0B9
(780) 436 3320
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
Latest book: Continuations (with Sheila E Murphy)
http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664
Late night
resurrection of a forgotten love, a vanished
civilization, where the waning moon is the
accusational eye of a discarded lover. . . .
Love’s absence
is still love, the heart a celestial wound.
Christopher Dewdney
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