Amanda Hill

Photograph In A Wrought-Iron Frame

                      

  A picture speaks words

                                                 
   
              Of joy and warmth and hidden pain

  
                                   
   That dream I had comes back again

      
                                       

				
   That you would leave

                                                                                        


							
   

                                   No words spoken

                                              

				

              Leave me   B
                                                                 
					

                                      R
                                                                                  
							  
                                            O
                                     K           
                                           
                      E
                                                   
                           N    


My Dear Old Bear 
                                                    
                                  You're not too bad
                                                            A damaged ear

                                              Re-stuffed by Mum
                                     Now plump and hard, not soft and white

                             You helped me make it through the night
                                   When I was small
                                                      AND I WAS small 
                       
                           Premature, same size as you,
                                     Lovingly laid side by side
                                           The incubator got me through.

                                       I cried all day when you were washed,
                                               Snatched from my grasp,
                                                     Hanging from the washing line
                                                            
                                                                  Flat from the mangle,
                                                                     Pegged by the ears,
                                      I felt your pain
                                                            Like you felt mine.

                                                   Two decades passed.
                                           I tried to take you back up north.
                                   Too risky, . .....           you were snatched once more.

                                                     I'd only lose you...
                                                         Maybe true,
                                               My parents clung onto you.

                                                    They were so wise
                                                   And so you're here.

                                                  A lifetime shared 
                                                         With you old bear.

Flights, Issue Eight, March 2023