Relics Of My Parents' Marriage Poem by Sheena Blackhall

A heavy metal stew pot
Which survived a war

The last of the dining room chairs
Dark thick varnish
Legs like marathon runners

These are all that outlived the clocks
Those martinets of time

His shotgun, his braces, the purplish peony roses
The mousetraps primed to decapitate small rodents
The rolling pin, her frocks, the gas mask
And the rusting tin of Vic
The keys that locked the cupboards of their kingdom

Diaspora of the grave goods
Where are you now?
Grandmother's Highland cattle painted in mist
The wireless with the wonky on/off switch?