THE LAST WITNESS

I occasionally wake with the makings of a poem in my head. I think I have said this before. I always get up and write down the ideas, it is important never to ignore the Muse, for they may not call again if you do. 

This poem arrived recently.

you’ve been in my dreams again

I can’t blame the times or the season

for this spate of visitations

half remembered conversations

you are always thirty

now I am old enough to be your father

and I fill the role of memory keeper

the last witness to what we had

There is nothing I want to say about it. Instead here is a little poem based on a memory. My mother would put the poker into the fire if she lost something and let the man from Wigan locate the missing object.

whenever my mother mislaid something

she would put the poker into the fire

and let the man from Wigan find it

I don’t remember anything that was lost

or whether it was found

just the poker in the coals glowing cherry red

I've been looking on the internet for more details about this particular superstition/charm but have been unable to find anything? Anyone any ideas?

Here's the wondrous Annabelle Chvostek with a new video. You can order her cds here.

Until next time.