The feeling you get when you open your curtains
onto the sunshine of a childhood morning,
or as you pass a lighted window at dusk
and see a family having their supper,
when in town on a crowded street you keep
thinking you’ve seen a long dead friend.
As you wave goodbye to a leaving train,
or are reminded of the warm biscuity smell
of your old spaniel’s ears. It’s that moment
you recall your Dad’s tartan dressing gown
but not the sound of his voice, or whenever
you hear the sobbing tones of a saxophone.
It’s the feeling that comes when you notice
your hands have turned into your mother’s.
My Motorcycle Diary
In the days when I slept beneath
the intense gaze of Che Guevara
and we all wore black berets
I fell in love with a boy
who owned a motor cycle.
Windblown hair, sunglasses.
Why aren’t you wearing your coat?
And be sure to get home in time for tea!
I closed my ears to my mother’s
nagging as we roared across Market Square
along Bridge Street and out of town
toward Cuba, the Revolution, and glory.
Jennie Farley is a published poet, workshop leader and teacher living
in Cheltenham. Her work has featured in magazines including Prole,
Under the Radar, The Interpreter’s House, and been performed at
festivals. Her first collection was Her Grandmother Skating(Indigo Dreams
Publishing 2016) followed by Hex (IDP 2018). She has just completed a
pamphlet The Gymslip Girls.