Skeletons at Midnight

An old poem this week. I spent a wonderful evening  with a friend once sharing all the gory details of our past with each other, something we hadn’t done yet although we had been friends for a while. The Boy wasn’t around yet, but she had quite recently had her first child. We got so involved in each other’s stories that at one point she said: “For a moment I forgot I had a baby upstairs!” When I got home I wrote this for her.

Skeletons at Midnight

behind the door was not
the shallow grave of dead secrets

but Narnia

Deeper now, and richer
are the colours of your face
against this backdrop.

These chords I hear
for the first time
change the meaning of the melody
that you are to me.

And here, for you, is my symphony.

These former selves are not us
just trailing shadows that lead
to now
and who we are
and will be:

two women
on a couch at midnight
with a cup of tea.

(c) Judith Kingston, 2010


16 responses

  1. What a beautiful beautiful poem to write for your friend. I love ‘just trailing shadows’. What a wonderful friend you are to see beyond the chatting to the depth of friendship that you shared. xx

  2. Wow! This gave me goosebumps! What a wonderful thing to write for a friend. I just love the bit about the trailing shadows of our past, in fact I’m going to copy out that part and stick it up! Wonderful reminder that our past doesn’t have to define us, and that our future is yet to happen xx

  3. Oh that’s truly the stuff that stories are made of. It’s utterly beautiful your friend must treasure it. If it were not for the fact that my round-up is submitted and scheduled (beyond my control) I would have been highlighting this as a golden oldie. I think its my favourite of yours yet xx

    • Oh thank you, that is lovely to hear.

      Running out of golden oldies now, think I have perhaps four more old poems up my sleeve for weeks when I haven’t written anything and then I’ll just have to keep writing new stuff. 🙂 Or switch to prose.

  4. Pingback: Guest Poem: Trebarwith Strands | Secrets of the Sandpit

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