In My Mother's WardrobeA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe things that I’m going to tell you Are secrets from childhood’s well, You must seal your lips from retelling Or spend a season in hell, In the back of my mother’s wardrobe Were some magical woods and a lake, I’d creep on in to explore them Whenever she wasn’t awake. I could tell by the way she was breathing As she lay in a huddle in bed, That she wasn’t about and deceiving As she did when her eyes were red, I’d carefully turn the wardrobe key And open the door, ajar, The hinges would creak, my mother would speak And say, ‘I know where you are!’ I’d scuttle on into the wardrobe And tumble right into a stream, The water was dry, I didn’t know why, I guess it was simply a dream, I’d get so entangled in stockings, In corsets and silk underwear, That I couldn’t hear her open the door And tell me ‘I knew you were there!’ I think back on what I remember And one of those things was the smell, She had all these perfumes and lipsticks And one that I know was Chanel, But most I remember her diving Headlong through the door, crying ‘Heck!’ And dragging me out of her underwear Each time, by the scruff of my neck! David Lewis Paget
© 2016 David Lewis PagetReviews
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