Too Cold for Snow
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By Silver Spun Sand
Wed, 19 Feb 2014
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4 comments
Not exactly The Antique’s Road Show...
just a bric-a-brac sale at the village hall.
The weather suited our mood that afternoon;
somehow, you just let it all out.
Tears ran down your face at such a lick,
as if to compete with the monsoon
dissipating on the car-windows;
the stark reality, the here and now of what
the surgeon and the medics said, finally kicking in,
which left us no choice but to bide our time
with idle distractions, such as this.
The place reeked of hot-dogs and rip-off merchants
but I fancied a Delft, blue and white vase, which
you bought for me;
a little chipped on the rim; one of the handles –
missing. Asymmetrical, it’s true, but for me –
perfect in its imperfections,
and I found myself saying I’d treasure it for ever;
it would always remind me of you, and
that day the school found out – and the faces
of the other teachers', and me telling you
it was over.
Outside, in the car-park, the rain had turned to sleet.
You shivered – said how cold it was;
too cold for snow...
On this very bench we sat; close to each other
and alone; the clouds - such strange shapes
and formations - threatening in ways
no weatherman could ever predict
and I held you as you shook, and then you lit
my cigarette for me; something else I’d given up
giving up.
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Comments
Hi Tina.
Hi Tina.
This is filled with echos and vivid flash-back memories in great detail. Reading it feels like looking through a window and understanding the scene. Really moving - lovely writing - heartbreakingly real.
Bee
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Hello Tina, here at last,
Hello Tina, here at last,
This is such a lovely but so sad poem. It really pulls at the heartstrings. I see you've not lost your touch. I'm surprised it didn't attact more comments because it's beautiful.
Moya
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