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Two poems for my father

March 23, 2019


March 23rd

no-one else remembers
this was his birthday

I know he’s dust in the earth
a spark in a web of neurons

but I woke today with a shock
he has forgotten me

JAA Lapwing Feb 45 small

The Sailor

Each time he came home from the sea
I opened the canvas holdall
pressed my face into his clothes
and breathed diesel, sweat, tobacco –

a richer intimacy
than his habitual good-night kisses
on forehead, nose and chin.

Ama Bolton

3 Comments leave one →
  1. March 23, 2019 3:06 pm

    So powerful and moving a reflection, Ama

  2. Beau Beausoleil permalink
    March 23, 2019 3:26 pm

    Dear Ama, These two poems ache with memory and beauty. The March 23rd poem, for me, is so quiet and powerful that it entered my body immediately, and the last line fixed it there like a pole star in my unconsciousness, forever.

  3. March 23, 2019 11:07 pm

    Many thanks to you both, and to others who e-mailed their comments.

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