Stands in St Anne's Square sharing her shiny spheres;
In her jackets and jewels of purple splendour
She blows light airy bubbles that banish tears.
Yet I know fragments and elements of her life,
The findings that led only to pains and losses,
broken and lost beads,
The illnesses, the unkindnesses, the polluted bubbles,
Even betrayals and hatreds that she suffered.
Hatred isn't black, that's racist shite,
Black is sensuous, black gleams bright -
hatred is colourless, unimaginative, dull.
The thud of blunt clubs at a baby seal cull.
Yet she hasn't become dull and bitter, nor lost her glitter -
Has smiles for strangers, and carries spare bubble tubs
for any who want a go, to ease their troubles, their rubs.
When she was going to see Leonard Cohen
She took me; gave me a pocket goddess,
Made me a bracelet of sea-blue style success.
She has come through shining brightly
The queen of beads and bubble blowing
the bubbles like giggling schoolgirl gaggles
wherever they are going,
With laughing hope and loving beauty
By the stone spheres and war memorial
of St Anne's Square.
Reproduced by kind permission of the delightful poet. Please visit her website :
http://cathybryant.co.uk (That Inking Feeling)
and leave lovely comments :)