In Memory

My memory is

a tailored suit black cuff button rolled

flipped and wedged between dusty wainscot and wooden floor.


It is four heavy old pennies balanced and stacked

beneath the leg of a lopsided make-do desk.


And then I may take the middle of a punched paper hole

scuffed and left by the soul of a Brogue.


In perpetuity it will bear faintest traces

of the stale scent of slim cigars

emanating from a plastic-lined basket-work bin.


It will not be wiped either

by its one string slither of a shedding mop.


There will be a sound too –

a sound insistent as a stylophone;

like the thrum of Anglia cars through thin windows.


And oh yes, its colours will always be orange – 

orange and bottle green.


Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

13 thoughts on “In Memory”

  1. My favorite line–“by its one string of a shedding mop” Poems constructed with carefully selected words and crafted for maximum impact like yours are the ones I love to experience.

      1. I had a pack of tissues with me in the local library.
        The staff are terribly understanding.
        BTW I’d love to reblog Big Foot. It makes me smile so much. Is that OK? May not be tomorrow, but in the next few days?

      2. I didn’t like to make assumptions. ‘It’ it shall be.
        If you do find the time to wander over, I’m in the thick of a rather elaborate blog running over four days. To make any sense of Miss B’s Travelogue, you need to read Day ! first.
        You can blame Audra for this, ol’ Ms Unfttered. she suggested a head to head between two of her favourite characters on my blog, and I just went ahead and did it.
        Always one for a challenge, me

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

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