In the Shadow of Flowers

The way the light falls upon roses deep and red,

Reminds you of your grandparent’s house

By the river, silent and still on summer days;

(In your memory it is always summer)

And now you’re sixty-five,

With hands well-versed in sorrow,

And the ever-elongating past

Of grandparent’s dead for fifty-five years

Interrupts present thoughts and hijacks daydreams 

As the smell of those roses, sweet and sharp and red

Travels continents before it lingers in the air

And tears fresh from your dreams fall onto cold reality

Bringing you back into the present, until the birds’ choiring

Their summertime melodies make you time travel again.

___

David Hay is an English Teacher in the Northwest of England. He has written poetry and prose since the age of 18 when he discovered Virginia Woolf's The Waves and the poetry of John Keats. These and other artists encouraged him to seek his own poetic voice. He has currently been accepted for publication in Dreich, Abridged, Acumen, The Dawntreader, Versification, The Stone of Madness Press, The Fortnightly Review, Nine Muses Poetry, as well as The New River Press 2020 Anthology.