Writing On Dark Afternoons, brought back memories of my grandparents farm near Caron, West Australia and where I used to spend most of my school holidays. The second verse is one of my memories of them among many others. Grandma would cut a slice of the hot bread just taken from the oven. I'd spread it with butter and the light as thistledown bread, melted butter would dissolve in my mouth.

The poem has had a considerable publishing history. I'm glad to publish it here again on my blog and website.
Northern Perspective - another literary magazine which has folded.
Pixel Papers - stopped publishing
Anthologies - Moving Out, Moving On
The Ink Drinkers
The Japanese Grandmother

 

ON DARK AFTERNOONS 

I read about a woman

Wandering along grassy banks

On dark afternoons

seeking her past. 

In my mind, I see them.

My grandparents in that house

Of bush timber.

He smoked a pipe

While she kneaded dough

and set it

wrapped in a blanket

by the fire to rise. 

The dusk sweeps

Gently at my window

As in my mind

I travel from town

to farm and back again.

And the night grows darkly

by my door. 

Laurel Lamperd

 

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