'Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World'

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sat, 14 Nov 2015
  • 1746 reads
6 comments
 
Listen.  They’re playing our tune; ‘Come Away with me’.
How vividly I recall that morning like it was yesterday...
the radio on in your greenhouse, when we made it a first 
amongst the Big Boys and Black Opals ...tomatoes
turned blush red...but instantly. 
 
You don’t remember, of course, nor a day, ages ago now
you let on you were worried sick?  I’m just wasting my breath…
Only, that’s when it began. You’d go to a cupboard, 
a drawer; not the foggiest idea what you went there for. 
 
Maybe you should see the quack, you said.  Perhaps
the beginnings of early onset Alzheimer’s?  I kissed you. 
Didn’t see much point; nothing they could do. Said
 
I’d only start to worry when you forgot clean towel day
was a Wednesday, or fresh bed-linen day was a Thursday. 
Then we’d slip between those newly laundered sheets
and you’d say I wasn’t bad – not for my age, at least,
and the world went away, as you lost yourself in me...
 
if you were to forget that Monday was always ‘pizza night’, 
and to order a large Messerschmitt; olives on one side, pineapple –
the other…Or if it slipped your mind – our anniversary.  Last Tuesday
as it happens, not that it mattered.  In fact, I took the liberty 
of getting us something, instead. How about a trip, next week, 
if I can lay my hands on the tickets?  Switzerland.  OK?
 
We often spoke about going there...when the need arose,
some of these days.
 
Imagine, if you can, the two of us slowly drifting to sleep,
and when we woke – the joy of starting over again...
the forgetting who we were...that we’d already met.
 
And at breakfast, me saying, ‘How about we share a table’.  
You asking if I take my coffee black or white, and if I fancy 
taking a trip with you, later, that afternoon, ‘Come away
with me, sweet lady,  in my own private jet,’ and I’d quip
it was the best chat-up line I’d heard all week, but maybe,
I might. 
 
And the waiter, a master of all things discrete, as all
good waiters are...would offer us a choice of eggs, 
two, three, four or five minute ones, and somehow 
I’d know, hard-boiled, plus two slices of Black Forest Ham 
on the side was on the tip of your tongue, 
and put it down to nothing more, 
nothing less than,
déjà-vu.
 
Certificate 18
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Love
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by celticman on

the mastery of time seems to be your line. I guess Switzerland isn't much of a date, especially if you've left life too late, but what wonderful recall, it's a lesson to us all. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Appreciated, celtic.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

your skill at explaining going back to rekindle that spark in a relationship, is spot on in this poem.

The emotional feelings of someone getting old, the fear of loosing memory is so sad and is precisely how you explain perfectly those frustrations, not only for the person who's experiencing, but also for their partner too. You can forget without even being distracted, just in a second walking from one room to another. Oh! To be able to go back to when life was a lot simpler.

Again I'm rambling, but just had to let you know my thoughts as I read.

A thoughtful read indeed.

Jenny.

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Jenny - you never ramble, quite the reverse.  Your thoughts are a constant source of inspiration of me, and I know, for a fact, many others.smiley

Tina

 

Submitted by EB on

You've really turned sadness on it head with acceptance as an advantage in this one, Tina. 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hopefully, EB, you are right.smiley

Tina