Thursday, May 18, 2006

For Poetry Thursday...

The man who used to live in our house before us (three years ago, actually not three months) was a solicitor working from home so we still get about three letters for him a day. I used to forward these on religiously, but gave up about a year ago because thought they couldn't really be that important. There are mornings when it still worries me though, so this poem came about ...
Gone Away

Three months after you move in
and the letters keep coming
until you stop forwarding,
let them pile up by the door,
dusty, unread. Only sometimes
do you flick through, imagining
the offers, demands, claims
unclaimed from all those women
waiting patiently in Kettering,
North London, Leicester
and, once, Rome, for the response
that now will never come. Mr Jones
of Forest Road, can you afford
to ignore us.
Those cat tongues
licking envelopes never opened,
a puzzle of what might have been.

4 comments:

Susannah said...

This reminds me of Paul Auster's New York Trilogy, when he answers the call and pretends to be the detective - lovely poem, it makes you wonder the secrets behind the urgent letters left unopened
Sx

chiefbiscuit said...

Lovely! I like 'cats tongues' - that hint of ... what? Malice ... maybe ... This poem has a mysterious quality.

jim said...

Really intelligent mixing of the trifle and the sinister--those little missives aren't so dismissive.

A genuine treat to read your work!

Sarah said...

Thanks all, your comments are much appreciated. I like the fact the poem made you think.