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1947

Through an open half-door, light enters the dark kitchen,

falls across the dresser,

and sparkles among the brightly coloured delph.

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On the mantelpiece opposite,

a stopped green-marble clock stands between a clear glass float

and a rusting tin box.

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A black kettle hangs on a black crook,

spits boiling water on a whitewashed hob,

and Johnnie’s stick leans against a brown wooden armchair.

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On the back wall blue gingham curtains screen the outshot bed;

a crucifix its only ornament

and the chirr of crickets its background music.

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2012

Through the paneless poor-law window,

I see a tree growing through the rotted thatch-

the half-door replaced by briers.

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To some, a wallstead

To me, Johnnie’s.

(an observation of Tryptich – a sculpture by Jaume Plensa placed in Max Reinhardt Platz, Salzburg 26 August 2012).Ìý

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Elevated on a black marble pedestal,

kneels a man created in stainless steel

upper case letters. I attempt to read him

from several points of view – all nonsense

words, beyond comprehension – a man

without syntax – without substance;

for light of day passing through this lattice

window of reflective characters leave him

imperceptible. Then, looking into the glassy

hollowness of his mute supplication, see

my deconstructed self...

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The marks on the pane are frail,

like breath on glass yet transparent.

Days later they still remain.

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The separate parts, slowly

discerned as forming pattern,

suggest wings stretched fully,

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soft breast, a spread fantail,

shadow of a shadow,

recording impact, a bird, maybe

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fleeing uncertain skies,

or just failed navigation,

yet no corpse on the window ledge.

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A passing image only, yet it calls

to mind those teaching windows,

figures grouped in glass,

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a dove hovering.

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