Tuesday, July 1, 2014


© 2013 Madelaine Nerson Mac Namara,

(Moving House)

July, school over for ever
and we're moving house.
The sixth storey we leave
combines the grandiose views
of the Mont Valérien
beyond the Bois de Boulogne
with the sweeping searchlight
that tops the Eiffel Tower.

Mother's dream has come true.
On a tour, in her twenties
she had fallen in love
with the town of Menton
where pink and white laurels
lemon and orange trees line streets
where the Alps balustrade a border
among palms and olives.

City bred, my father turns
passionate gardener, amazed
by his own green fingers
the nine an old war has left him.  
He plants small mimosas
against a sea background.
In two years their shade
at midday is taller than me.

Autumn term in college
two hundred miles away
my dreams sniff the fragrance
of fluffy golden spheres.
But Mother claims her view
and he fells my totems.
The only thing ever
I've had to forgive them!

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