the trifle, it exploded on the blue floor pain
-ting cryptic signs churned in chaos.
Raspberries, cream, vanilla custard, glacé cherries, perfect
sponge, (home-made of course) secrets
hinted by hundreds and thousands
no-one would ever understand. The cold
glister of broken crystal, the old bowl her ex
brought back from Paris at his own risk.
She wanted to laugh until she saw
his face at the head of the table, the half
-empty bottle of Smirnoff, his plate strewn with left-over
Christmas, the scrunched up paper napkin, handy for blood
spilt when she tried to pick up the pieces.
COMMENTLydia Popowich studied creative arts in Newcastle during the nineties. She worked for many years as a Community Artist involved in the Disability Arts Movement. She now lives with a black and white Orcadian cat called Hope on the north coast of Scotland. She continues to write and make art. Her poems have appeared in Obsessed with Pipework, Northwords, Dream Catcher, The Dalesman and local anthologies. Lydia wrote ‘The Day She Dropped’ for an assignment on Poetry and the Visual with Tamar Yoseloff.
‘The Day She Dropped’
Posted in Poems 9 years ago
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Yes it is fabulous. Great words. Will have to read on.
On first reading I thought this was an allegory of childbirth…I could be reading too much into it? Enjoyed it.