My Aunty's Coat

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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,

the years,

the decades.

◄ Yew

Drifting ►


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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?

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Tue 7th Feb 2023 16:11

Really sweet! Your aunty came alive in this poem.

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