the madrigal, volume iii.v
by helen openshaw
“It was the war, so I wore black.
It was just us then.”
Waking towards the camera,
The start of their life.
Gran holds the photo for me to see,
A scent of the past through the grainy
Black and white haze,
Almost lost before they began.
“Look, there’s my Mother,
Relieved to see me of her hands,
I always felt in the way –
‘Pat, you are so clumsy!’
She would grumble.”
There is her anchor – Grandpa standing
With straight backed pride, her hand
Resting on his arm, secure,
No clumsiness now.
Helen Openshaw is a Drama and English teacher, from Cumbria. She enjoys writing poetry and plays and inspiring her students to write. Helen has had a short monologue commissioned by Knock and Nash productions. Recently published and upcoming poetry work in Secret Chords by Folklore publishing, Green Ink Poetry magazine, Forge Zine, Fragmented Voices, Loft Books, The Dirigible Balloon magazine, Words and Whispers magazine. Twitter - @Pocket_rhyme