GUILT
All the best places were forbidden, disused,
decrepit, far from net curtains, aunts,
mother spoiling a lost fatherless boy.
Best was the brickworks. We thrust, like commandos
sharp with twigs and fear, through undergrowth
into the yards. Blackberries burst, purpling
in private summers. Once, I hid in reeds.
A sundew glistened. A horsefly hovered.
I heard my companions calling, calling…
My mother met us raging, loving before
friends who had fathers. Shame prickled my face
the blackberries had stained.
Mary Clark
September 24, 2015Evocative of childhood’s raging emotions and search for self-identity. One of your best, I think.
Hugh Powell
September 25, 2015A fine twin to Heaney – more powerful in its evocation of your childhood’s bringing up.
John Huddart
September 25, 2015Hugh is right – and it is right to re-work childhood, holding hands with mentors such as him.
Alan Horne
September 27, 2015I liked this because it’s so stripped down. “Once I hid in reeds.” Five words, but you could puzzle over just that bit for ages.