Monday 1 February 2016


We like to think of grannies as home bakers, clicking homespun and smelling of freshly baked soda bread but here's one from my childhood who doesn't quite tick these boxes.
Childhood memories can be very clear and keenly felt even after half a century.
So sit with them and see what poems they throw up.


No smell of griddle bread or hiss
of kettle on the black stove. Just her
in widow weeds and off-white pinny
beside an unlit hearth.

Outside in coop-sized yard siblings squeal
Tig-Tag,”I’m out.You’re in!” Inside
I sit, amphibian-eyed. She doesn’t lure me in
with soda-bread butter-laced web.

But cross-armed, toothless mouth agape
“You’re just like your mum!”-
 hurtled at me with rasping tongue.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016

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