I’m from the weighted coldness of a
key-chain round my neck, when
all my friends had mothers
waiting with a snack.
I’m from dinner-tables where my father
spoke alone, and questions
rarely drifted from his work or news
I’m from dust of bookshelves
from weight of Luther in
a non-religious home.
from homework done in
warmth from table-lamp,
from tea at nine (if homework done)
in front of flicker of the TV-screen
a sense of quiet talk before
we went to bed.
I’m from recording music borrowed
(10 CC or City Boy)
on TDK and Maxell tapes.
I’m from reading late
(a book from dusty shelves)
resembling war of ants.
I’m from country weekend forest work.
from backseat travels to the north
a vinyl pattern branded on my thighs
I’m from from skis and skates.
and the brief relapse in
sunny sea-side summers
(like a dream).
I come from bullied loneliness.
Today we write poetry “from where I am…” at toads inspired by Susie. I have written a poem on this before, and I basically reworked that one to a new poem. The expression war of ants is one we used in Swedish to describe the TV-screen flicker we had to live with. Cannot say I had a real bad child-hood, but it was not terribly bright either. I have already written 30 poems in April, but I will continue until the month has ended.
April 25, 2016