My Aunty's Coat
Swaddled and happy,
I drown in my aunty’s best coat;
here on mottled kodak paper,
monochrome fun in a breeze block back yard,
swimming through sixties patchouli oil,
an eight year old ginger face
grinning back through time and fake fur,
hem brushing scuffed Clarks T Bar sandals,
heavy raglan sleeves pulled high
over skinny, freckled arms,
all worries shelved for the afternoon,
banished in a box brownie session,
standing by my mother’s youngest sister
with her smile that carried the day,
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh
Thu 16th Feb 2023 10:15
Clarks T Bar sandals
I think I remember those. According to mum they were the best quality in town, and they had a little machine that measured your feet-were X rays or something involved?
Tue 7th Feb 2023 16:11
Really sweet! Your aunty came alive in this poem.
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