Coins from a Handkerchief

She remembers Sundays, where
Maman would tuck money inside
a handkerchief, tell her to walk
straight there, no wasting time by
the fountain with the wild eye boys
and their tangled curled sisters.
Grandmére would tell her not to
scuff her shoes, polished to a shine
and left a parcel in paper
outside her bedroom door.
Mass would be a prompt call and
after - the smell of fresh bread
would waft its way into each
corner of the breakfast room;
coffee, black and stinging,
yet for the children 'au lait',
they would stamp their feet
too long left quiet in the
cavernous stone church, where
Incense just left a hole and pangs
felt like elbows punched into stomachs.

She was late once,
a light rain fell and she borrowed
a headscarf, tied behind her ears;
she felt sophisticated,
then hid, too shy to approach, watching
the wild boys laugh and their sisters
aping manners long etched
from a grandmother's sharp tongue.
She hid behind the charcuterie, until
feet rang in shining pebbles on cobbles.
When she crept out, Xavier with
his stillness was waiting
passing her a forbidden stick of gum,
before he ran to join his friends.
That Sunday, there was no fresh bread,
only a priest who spoke of abstinence
and purity of souls.
She kept the stick of gum
until its flavours disappeared.

Sunday's were bells, fresh bread
café au lait and the taste of almonds
in the confiture that grandmére laid
in jars, with patterned tops, her
Fingers stained with black polish,
red rimmed eyes tired as she remonstrated
with young girls
unsure of their place in a world
where wild boys and their
tangled haired sisters
jostled for pennies dropped
from a handkerchief into
the stringent waters of a
village fountain.





Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 764 times
Written on 2015-02-27 at 09:27

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A very pleasant ramble.
2015-03-01


shells
As always, your portrait of life is so sharp it makes for such an enjoyable read, as Ashe said simpler times.
2015-02-28


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
As always, I appreciate your ability to paint a picture of your world. As always I appreciate the glimpse of it.
2015-02-28



What an enjoyable read, Elle, of simpler times and of Grandmeres who baked bread and shone shoes instead of running off to a job.
Beautiful writing.
2015-02-27



Ooh lovely memories.
A delightful read I felt every nuance and felt as tho' I was the girl.
Beautiful:)
2015-02-27


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Perfectly balanced descriptions, metier musical
piquant.
2015-02-27