Sally Douglas – three poems

Taking Her Out

I’d drive her out each Sunday, and we’d park
and watch the frigates sail. I’d buy her tea –
she’d add a nip ‘for warmth’. Sometimes we’d talk.

But often we just sat. We sat for years.
Long years of grey October skies. Destroyers
came and went. Tankers hulked on the horizon.
Radios tinkled from the beach. Children played,
and children drowned. She sat there with a rug
tucked round her knees. The sea was flat, the sea

was always flat; the sky a gun-grey arc.
The Café closed. Her eyes grew fish-opaque.
I never knew what we were looking for.


Cigarette Holder, Cocktail Length

When she died, they gave it to my father,
wrapped in tissue in an Asprey’s box
with her broken watch, her powder compact:
the only things not sold after the War.

Holiday gifts for her were always easy:
cellophaned bricks of Silk Cut, Duty-Free.
I never wondered – why not scarves, or gin?

My father had never mastered the forgetting:
how Granny played the long-since-gone piano,
while Grandpa sent him scavenging
for dog-ends in the street.

I don’t know why I keep it.
I touch it: ebonite, embossed
with lead-white flakes of skin.


After Equinox

One of those red mornings
……..sun scudding a salmon sky
my eyes filling with sound

……..planes trailing grey tunnels of roar
…………….birdsong scrawling on air
……..our words……beautiful frayed ribbons

I drop you at the station
……..drive home through wind-scoured lanes
prepare to binge on winter


Sally Douglas’ first collection, Candling the Eggs, was published by Cinnamon Press in 2011. She has been published in various poetry journals, most recently in Under the Radar and Canto. She was a winner in the 2015 Exeter Poetry Festival Competition, and starts her MA with Lancaster University in Autumn 2016. On Twitter she is @SallyDPoet.

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One thought on “Sally Douglas – three poems

  1. E.E. Nobbs October 20, 2016 / 4:10 pm

    These three poems work well together. Taking Her Out is a favourite of mine. The almost off-handed inclusion of “and children drown” adds an extra haunting-ness to the mysteries in the poem, the old woman, and relationships over a lifetime. And how even between people who have spent much time with and over years — there is still so much we will never know. Thanks, Sally.

    Like

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