All too often I forget things, put a book down and forget where I’ve put it, put something in a safe place and can’t remember where the safe place is, or forget the way somewhere. My forgettery works overtime …
an unknown face frowns from the mirror
whose voice calls across the room?
there’s no memory of a curved spoon
an absence of children in the family tree
picnics have no river-bank context
rain falls without meaning or placement
I am adrift on creased old maps
mist clings to hands and face
photo albums hold an unknown past
while my diary records lost appointments
To Bethlehem: ‘This little book is delightful, full of … poems on this timeless subject. … the most fun is the little prose vignettes of the common people in the Christ-child story. The slave who looks after the wise men’s camels, or the overworked maid at the inn who has to fetch water for the birth, and many more. A lovely gift for the reader on your Christmas list!’ Rosalind Adams. Available from Amazon and Kindle.