She lies back
and thinks of England.
(No, not the Victorian one
of how a wife had to grin and bear it
and not enjoy any of it)
“I always... enjoyed it...always! ”
But the England
that she knew
50 years ago
when the War
had just ended
And Life felt
like it could be
kissed on the lips
and be forever faithful.
She still tells her son John
to send her Marks & Sparks undies
and oh...digestive biscuits.
Her husband John
smiles from behind his glasses
from behind the glass
of his wedding photograph
long gone
long gone
but she forgets and then... remembers and...cries.
Outside the monsoon
goes on and on.
She looks to the moon
and wonders where “... my England’s gone! ”
as if it were her
knitting she had just put down.
She sits in a home
in England.
India now a far off clime
A foreign land
of memory
not realising
the monsoon
is all in her
mind.
She tells anyone
who will listen
of her beloved John
and how sex...
“I always...enjoyed it...always! ”
was never far from
her mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so sad...... i have worked in places where older folk live within their minds... i empathise with this poem, donall.... you have handled it sensitively... rachael