Unguarded
My mother couldn’t abide
the smell of pine incense.
Pleaded that it reminded her
of the cloying cleanliness
of her own mother’s funeral.
Petulant; I hadn’t experienced
memory’s stealthy crawl
and pounce; the cruel bite
of remembrance.
Nor how memory can be
endowed through talk and thought -
so this unguarded walk
under murmuring pines
carries a sadness
trebled over time.
- Sean Wright 2016
SB Wright grew up in the NT and currently works as a primary school teacher in SA. He’s a regular contributor to Tincture Journal, and his poems have featured in INDaily Adelaide, Eureka Street, Bluepepper, Writ Poetry Review and the anthologies The Stars Like Sand and Poetry & Place 2015. He is currently recording the results of his year dedicated to poetry at Words Poetical.
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