SEVEN THINGS I REMEMBER ABOUT WHAT I LOST ON THE WAY HOME

OR

PEOPLE IN CARS, GOING

I remember about blame (+1) and

crab apples (+1) the dress (+1) you wore 

to make the statement but not (-1) the statement itself.

 

Without conclusion I am left walking around the car park with a man

named Michael (+1) an artist whose last name I . . .  (-1)

and I remember (+1) we photographed florescent cuffs

perplexed the woman who came down the stairs to sell us the

florescent cuffs

 

but did not buy them to cover our wrists even though 

like moons wrists do not make their own light

whatever you do with them.

 

I remember (+1) waiting for the . . .  (-1)

and I think you were a teacher of politics who kindly

reassured me that there was no chanting

no need to panic meanwhile the

quiet white noise I found the room go into alone.

 

I remember the two A4 sheets badly folded together (+1)

pocketgone (-1) now rubbish

in some other footwell.

Still the residents of the crescent reach for their telephones.

 

I remember hearing the chanting (+1) that wasn’t there (-1)

I remember (+1) asking an ignorant question and being answered with kindness

I remember (+1) my excitement when realising

the seven confessions of others had begun (+1) to be read aloud and

preparing a lie (-1) to tell if asked

to protect the true statement I had made

(I was not asked).

 

I remember (+1) adding words and taking them away to make seven (7)

which itself is only five (5) letters long somehow ruining everything.

I remember (+1) I think (≠)

low green freedom.

 

 

BIRDS OR HOW TO BE HAPPY

She liked birds the concept very much, kept books, paintings, etc.

looked at them when getting up or in from work, when passing the 

hall for any reason. 

The problem was their corporeal selves: each wing line a bone, their 

heads full of thimble skull, their mouths almost bone and their warm 

hot fast middles the worst.

One day she went to a garden centre, bought a bird bath and placed it 

sixty miles from her back door because that is how to be happy.

 

Fee Griffin received her MA in Creative Writing from the University of Lincoln and serves as a poetry editor for The Lincoln Review. She has recent work published in Poetry London and the latest anthology from Dunlin Press, Port. She works as a cleaner and for the SO Festival.​

The Abandoned Playground is curated by Daniele Pantano.

Lincoln  •  Langenthal 

ISSN 2633-0725

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