I met up with the Secret Poets this week. We try to meet every four to six weeks. As usual they were able to offer constructive feedback on my latest poems. This one lost part of a line and gained some punctuation.
BUTTONS
Who saves buttons these days
to rescue a garment in time of need.
Your mother did, in a big glass jar.
Studiously she cut them off those labels
the ones we only notice when they make us itch.
I’ve never told you this before,
too embarrassed,
too distressed,
because I mislaid it one move or other
after her death.
All I can offer you is this,
a litany of buttons you will never see,
pearl white, little maroon, big wooden buttons.
Oh, and the five yellow stars
she meant to put on the jumper
she never had the chance to knit you.
You can read the other draft here. I think this poem is as finished as it will ever be. Thank you Secrets.
Here's Astrid Williamson. Her latest album is excellent.
Until next time.
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