All Stilled to Idle
My earliest memories of those new days
was the intervening calm, our cheerful
spirit between storms. Great splenetic breaths
that trembled and snapped the air. Then gone,
and all stilled to idle. We’d recover, raising up
like speculation and then fall back into a dark
brooding. Repeating. A daily shadowy grimness.
We’d set the fire for warmth, its crackle a muse
to a grateful heart, and as I remember …
January 1991, perched firm to stay, blew cold
and shook the sun’s glow. And we stared into
the clock, pleading it to rush the month along.
Inspired by Bleak House, Charles Dickens.
Photo of Romney Marsh, Sussex.