Conversation with the Child Within

John Gibbons via Unsplash

I sit at the table,

lit by dim candles,

stern hands around a short black

like warming mittens.


I never liked coffee,

the taste too bitter,

but to show my maturity,

I drink it now.


He sits a metre away,

glaring at my gestures.

We talk and talk

about the oceans and seas:

my ageing eyes unsheathe sagacity.


His face is earnest and callow,

a million hues in the iris,

Swirling gently. How spellbinding time is,

that invites such marvellous complexities

to fuse from innocent wonders.


We cry a little and laugh a lot,

strum verses from our agonies,

gold and luminous,

until the flame of time eventually quivers.


Farewell old pal,

it’s time for me to depart.

Like shoes at the door,

I will lay it down:

a scarred body, a trail of art,

a heavy languor no longer mine to bear.


I learn and skip to the rhythm of the wind,

chasing aspirations beyond my sight.

But I will always know that when the gloom sinks in

and my will falters for a moment,

I will return to the table

where plates are filled with memories

and talk about the oceans and the seas,

with the boy that was once me.


Tags : Poetry
Lot's Wife Editors

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