Memories and Memorials

Lockerbie – Twenty‐Two Years

‘Nothing is less visible than a monument’ – Robert Musil

 

My memories are not chiselled 

in tablets of stone.  They are fluid,

come and go with the ebb and flow 

of time passing.

I did not know them, although I bore

witness to their fate before the world

became aware of a town laid bare,

a wasteland, devastation, destruction.

Body parts perched on rhone pipes,

arms and legs anchored on trees.

No walking wounded, no warning.

 

Evidence now laundered to oblivion

by a task force, summoned by conscience,

silenced by secrets.

Subversion beyond the decades until

memories fade. I will grow old like

those who have passed beyond.

 

In that same field a farmer limps

towards his beasts under that tree,

speaks of mischance.

First published in 'From Glasgow to Saturn' literary magazine, Issue 21, March 2011.

The Power of X

I

The surgeon said dirt was embedded

under layers of skin,

so made a deep incision into my thumb

to clean out grime and grit.

Three cross stitches and two weeks later

the wound had healed. 

 

II

Was it legend or fate that traced

a white cross on blue sky

at Athelstaneford,  clinching 

victory for the Scots?

I see the image now

as jet trails etch symbols in our skies,

mimicked by flags fluttering 

over Edinburgh’s cityscape.

 

III

I was humbled once, by an Irishman

buying antiques at my parents’ auction.

When asked to sign for the goods

he sealed the deal with a cross.

First published in 'From Glasgow to Saturn' literary magazine, Issue 21, March 2011.

Past Times To Pastimes

 

I remember the nineties’ power dressing,

smart suit, A line skirt, business-like blouse,

and to set it off, the ubiquitous lapel brooch.

 

Don’t forget designer leather shoes,

modest heel, no stilettoes, no flatties,

with tights in matching colours.

 

I wonder now in lockdown dressing down,

what use these strident statements are

in shades of yellow, pink and blue.

 

I remember my neighbour crafting flowers,

twisting silver wire into petal shapes,

then wrapping scraps of tights to form the buds,

 

She pulled the fabric taut and wound it round,

placed sparkling silver stamens in the centre,

adding florists’ wire green to form a stem.

 

I emulate her skills in making new designs,

using fuse wire till I get it right, and now

I have a grand excuse for keeping these old tights.

First published in Fife Contemporary as part of the 'Resolve to Make it New' lockdown project, 2020.