Words by David Ross Linklater
I remember the white well kept hair
purple patterned carpet
desk with the finger nipping hatches
cappuccino coloured couch
conservatory where plants & slaters leak
soil & greens & shades of shell
thick in the fibres of the nostril
of the garden
gazing out across the water
where jets went vertical
horns slither like slugs
to the door
& up the walls
into the bowls
in the cupboard
in the kitchen
the wood stove stews vegetable memory.
But mostly of you
sat in your chair like a Queen
always well kept in every sense
I return a year after your death
& smell shuffling through
the albums of you
the fumes of
a honeymoon in a double edged motorcycle
sparkling black & white smile
& brown hair!
Age is so pale!
I turn the pages & see you with friends
on a beach the clouds absorbed.
I see you before the mad war
already a worldly woman
born for the long haul.
I turn dateless dusty stained pages.
I see you Mary
I see you now.
David s originally rom the Highlands f Scotland and now esides in Glasgow. He writes poetry and prose nd just finished tudying Professional Writing at City of Glasgow College. You can follow him on twitter @DavidRossLinkla
This article appeared in ODOU issue 3
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