Magic – by Julia Dean-Richards

February 14, 2011 at 9:51 pm (Poems)

When I am in your house

magic is there.

It is in the Hoover

the dustpan

the dirty sink;

it is in the ash bucket

and the coal-scuttle;

it hangs over the banister

pretending to be an odd sock.

Magic speaks

through a cockerel crowing strangely outside,

through the grass growing wild in your garden,

through a CD I didn’t choose;

it jolts me as I drive over potholes

on the way to your door

and calls to me through your rattling letter box.

I don’t say much, because I am listening.

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2 Comments

  1. m lewis redford said,

    a grandparent, or aunt/uncle, and the pre-time that was never yours, but belongs to you?

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Glad you caused me to look back to early blogging days, with a new eye, perhaps, and rediscover magic put away. Thank you, and welcome.

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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