Nuclear family Christmas

Poem by Joan Dunleavy From December 20, 1974

There are lights in all the houses,
she says to herself,
(no one else being available).
Standing deep, in discarded wrapping paper,
by the window in a darkened room,
she stares…

All those dishes, clean at last, lean precariously
on the old-fashioned draining board.
Small snow flakes spiral,
moved haphazardly on an icy current.

She, suburban derelict,
watches her soul crawl over foot-printed pavements,
calling, as it goes: I am gregarious, really…
while the children squabble in the next room.
And in the garden a shrivelled, left-over rose
blows…

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Comments

An article in today’s Times, by Susie Goldsbrough, encourages us to “Try a minority sport this Christmas — poetry” - I shall start with this poem by Joan Dunleavy - thank you for reprinting it 😊

By Dorcas on 21st December 2023 - 10:16

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