Coffee pot routine

We visit the theme time and again

and draw the same conclusion

where among the porcelain cups

used to play out routine,

objects, at once familiar,

grant redundant aid where

questions stab at problems

challenged then rebuked, never

to see the uncluttered space behind

those repurposed implements.

Hollow clattering drowns out

the bubbling stovetop coffee.

And I wait

for a safe distance when

no longer of use, I cannot comply.

And it is silent.

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
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Objects

I wrap objects in newspaper

with deliberate care.

 

They whisper evocatively.

 

In the dark

they journey to another place,

another in-between space,

witnesses of a past to mourn.

 

A waiting game is being played.

 

They are winning the charade

and draw me in with sepia hues,

glanced through misted panes of glass

distorted to anthracite decay.

 

And while nomadic and free,

in mocking silence they look on

and laugh at me.

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson

July

On this day strangers descend,

the home of peace and nurture

at an end. Echoes of joy

fill vacuous rooms.

A wrong turn.

A shattered era.

Uncertainty looms.

A last look around will settle it,

a task performed with reverent

care while behind the hedge

a man lies in wait. We know

he will enter at twelve and are

numbed in the sweltering heat,

bearing down, subduing

movement and haste.

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson

 

April

Do you remember when

skinny, pale and winter skinned

we jetted off to tropical sands,

the island of my father’s birth,

happy, clueless newlyweds?

You ask if I have any regrets.

I smile and turn to my own thoughts.

What a question.

I meet your eyes, blue lagoons,

glinting pools of steadfast warmth

and ask if you’d like a cup of tea.

 

‘Lovely,’ you say,

smiling back at me.

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson

December

You drop off the children

and drive me to town on a day

full of effulgent promise

We wander around a local museum

before lunching at a project

for the disadvantaged

We watch a film in the afternoon –

Unstoppable

– a train is hurtling towards disaster

And as we walk we hold hands

facing the biting wind

your sense of occasion

undiminished

For you had carefully planned

my birthday

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson

Phone calls

It sits on the desk and rings all day.

My stomach sinks while my

head prepares to be underwhelmed

as I give the rehearsed reply.

 

I decide to ignore 0844, 0845

and numbers of futile cause

 

while relations ring with equal gravity,

on and on, an unabated, fixed reminder

of what cannot be undone,

evoking Oscar Wilde.

(Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in

that Wagnerian manner.)

A rude intruder demanding

the involuntary final act.

 

Then there is silence, yet

the perturbed shrill resonates

in every corner

of every room,

subdued coercing tones of doubt.

 

From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson