Les bliancs lapîns!
Un mio dé la poésie pouor lé preunmyi dé févri.
Magic Memories
We take our own magic with us you and I.
Do you remember the bed that sagged like a
hammock, the room in Antwerp next to the
toilets, the Irish bedroom thick
with agonising saints?
Do you remember the windows that overlooked
the brothel? The raggazzi revving bikes
under our balcony till dawn?
The frogs? The drains?
The door that wouldn't open? The shower we
couldn't stop? The landlady with the glass eye?
Strange breakfasts. Stranger suppers. Mice.
Do you remember the night when I laughed
myself out of bed?
All magic.
All memories to treasure all our days.
Pam Brown b.1928
Magic Memories
We take our own magic with us you and I.
Do you remember the bed that sagged like a
hammock, the room in Antwerp next to the
toilets, the Irish bedroom thick
with agonising saints?
Do you remember the windows that overlooked
the brothel? The raggazzi revving bikes
under our balcony till dawn?
The frogs? The drains?
The door that wouldn't open? The shower we
couldn't stop? The landlady with the glass eye?
Strange breakfasts. Stranger suppers. Mice.
Do you remember the night when I laughed
myself out of bed?
All magic.
All memories to treasure all our days.
Pam Brown b.1928