the inheritance

Poem #25 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

it was a closet
of sorts
a tiny room-space
for storing things
that weren’t
in current use

small chests
biscuit tins
with commemorative pictures
into the metal of the lid

shoe boxes

one on top of another
stacked only enough
to ensure
there could be no chaos
of slippage

a cascade of colour
with each container
tentatively sealed

held closed from the outside
as though to prevent
a random escape attempt
by the contents

from the floor
to above his full height
stack beside stack
filled the space

he tentatively grasped
one small chest
turned the key

raised the lid



the sound
the colour
the sensation
of feet
kicking through
the autumn’s leaves

© Frank Prem 2017

Bachelard and me Poem #26: the brook


7 thoughts on “the inheritance

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