Another Recent Poem
My peculiar porcelain boy,
living your awkward love.
How unbearable to watch
you recoil from her touch.
Afraid of being exposed,
rendering intimate truths.
Her protests are open now,
against me, our odd ways.
Users of the brown cloth,
old bathroom modesties.
The flesh denied freedom,
our bodies golden temples.
Inhibition over exhibition,
a mother’s lasting regret.
Will your past stay present,
keeping you forever timid?
Forgive me my hapless son,
stained by the brown cloth.
© Copyright, 2008. Seamus Kearney. "The Brown Cloth".
6 comments:
Nice poem Have to go over it again to capture it completely. We've got exactly the same brown cloth at home Hope my son didn't get stained by it
Thanks Marja! Oh mothers and their regrets about how they raise their children.:-)
Good poem Seamus, like Marja though I'm still juggling a little.. :)
Hope you are well my friend.. :)
Cheers Eric - Good to have you pop by. People have interpreted this poem in different ways, which is interesting. Amazing how we all see different things. :-)
???? Private parts covered with cloth? MOther guilty her son is now strange and shy? Very sad & nicely evoked.
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