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Carole Bromley – Charlotte Bronte’s Paintbox

Charlotte Bronte’s Paintbox

It smells of sandalwood and oil,
of ancient charcoal and lead.
If it could talk it would speak
in a whisper, a conspiratorial whisper.
Worn smooth by small white hands,
her prints still here on its dark interior.
If I put my lips to it I could taste
the printing ink on the lid.
It looks like my granny’s sewing box
with its neat drawers and ledges,
or the Japanese musical box
my grandfather gave me, a key
for each secret compartment,
the paint still yellow in its little white pot.

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Carole Bromley lives in York where she is the stanza rep and runs poetry surgeries. She has three collections, A Guided Tour of the Ice House, The Stonegate Devil and Blast Off! (for children) www.carolebromleypoetry.co.uk

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