Reminiscence by Clare Proctor



As if I have already met you
I hear your voice.

It drops like a pebble
into a pond.

It drops
into the pond
of my childhood.

Dad pours autumn water
into the mould
as I dance through bonfire smoke
being a witch
or on Top of the Pops.

Your voice drops
into the garden pond
when I am a child.

I feel it break the surface.
I hear its muffled flux
as it sinks underwater,
settles into the silt.


Clare Proctor lives and teaches in Cumbria and is a member of the Brewery Poets. She has had poetry published in French Literary review and Shooter magazine.


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