Monday, 21 November 2016

A poem by Julia D. McGuinness

Not Muriel


Low sun through the windows
gilds dust in a bone-weary lounge.
A rasp cuts the air; specks whirl.
That's my sister! It's Muriel!
A stranger spears her finger
at me, pins me not Muriel

with a rigid stare, shadowed
in sockets dark with old grievance;
Her stiff hand needles my sleeve.
What's happened with the house?
I flinch, like a Muriel clamped
and mantled to fix the family.

Stumped, I scan bodies slumped
in Care and see Mum asleep,
mouth open, in a tan chair:
upright; plastic; urine-resistant.
I crouch low, whisper by her face
the name she gave me once.





Julia D. McGuinness lives in Cheshire where she writes, counsels and runs writing workshops for creativity and wellbeing. Her poems have been published in anthologies and online appearances include Clear Poetry, Nutshells and Nuggets, Spilling Cocoa over Martin Amis and Ink, Sweat and Tears. Her collection Chester City Walls, was published by Poetry Space in 2015. She belongs to Lapidus, the network of therapeutic writing practitioners, and the Mid Cheshire Stanza BLAZE.
Visit her at www.creativeconnectionscheshire.co.uk

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