Dark Beginnings.

I have found your poems
Inscribed precisely on scraps of paper
                Fifty years ago
And left to my safe keeping.

I can see you now, pen in hand,
Kneeling low on the kitchen floor
                in my mother`s house;
Thick black hair swung over your face
As you fought to refine an exuberance of words.

You were just fifteen then,
A fierce Irish girl intent on a brawl
                for the smallest slight,
Your adolescent dreams deeply in thrall
To macabre images of death.

Just like a child you hated the night,
But your true fear was honed to a sharper edge,
The elemental urgency of adult love
               More terror filled than dying.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter 
August 27th. 2012.