Monday, 1 March 2021

A story somewhere

A day of seeing things not there,
realising this curve, that angle of light,
creates an impromptu face,
paints a smile in the floor, a wide eye by the door,
watched by a casting shade or sun on a wall
I saw a hundred times before. 

Nothing I could point at,
draw round with pen,
trace with chalk or
my uncertain finger,
hesitating at the juncture
of concrete, lips and the nose
I was sure of when I touched you
and said,

an imaginary sentence never used,
describing a face you could not see,
in the bricks near our house,
where we walk by, where I turn,
and tell you about supper instead.

© Amanda J Harrington 2021

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A story somewhere