I Was Happy At Home
Trisha Broomfield
She owns a lifetime of words,Â
all eager to join the day
but eel-like they slip from her grasp.
Memories float past,
jig-saw pieces that don’t fit;
blue sky, a stripy green lawn
busy lizzies in coral and pink.
‘I was happy at home,’
she tells the old woman in the mirror.
the hairdryer silencing the phrase she clings to.
Another lump edged memory slides too fast,
a cat. Was it hers?
Her hair, a stiff grey hat, has lost all softness,
‘Claire did my hair, at home.’
A whiff of Elnett from the past precedes today’s blast.
Hands help her to her swollen feet, not unkindly,
steer her to the door.Â
‘See you next week, dear.’
Other hands help her to a car,
plant her shoes flat, pull the seat belt tight.
She gazes out at tree-lined streets,
chestnuts fall, leaves, loathe to release, turn slowly.
‘I was happy at home,’Â
she says, to no one in particular.Â
Trisha has three poetry pamphlets published by Dempsey and Windle and features in many anthologies.
She is one third of The Booming Lovelies who appeared at Guildford Fringe Festival this year. Her poems frequently blend humour and pathos, with a look back in amazement approach at days gone by.
You can hear her more of her poems on the Poetry Worth Hearing poetry podcast and on BBC Upload.
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