The house of hidden hope
Nan hid her scotch under the sink.
Other secrets she slid between the floorboards.
I’m sad when I pass her old place,
its garden tarmacked for a Nissan car.
How easy to picture her face at the door.
How hidden everything behind her.
What’s left of her is lodged in corners,
wedged-in with mildewed money,
foxed books, broken toys
or tinselled gifts for other kids.
Peter Kenny is a poet, playwright and freelance writer working with humanitarian and health clients. His poetry publications include The Nightwork (Telltale Press 2014) and A Guernsey Double (Guernsey Arts Commission 2010), his plays are all black comedies, and include Wrong and A Glass of Nothing. He also writes horror short stories, most recent publication The Dark Fish appeared in Horla the home of intelligent horror (Nov 2018). He blogs at www.peterkenny.co.uk
There is an immense amount of nostalgia in this poem. I especially liked the line ‘What’s left of her lodged in corners…’ I really wanted to carry on reading after I reached the end.
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Enjoyed the details of what can be seen and what can’t be. Love how the title works with the poem.
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