One Poem by Kate Young

Written in response to this month’s Special Challenge.

Thoughts from Inside a War-Torn Chair

I am spent. I crave
that physical presence
heavy in doorway

soles and laces
flip-flapping like fish
returning to spawn.

Just a nipper then
when I cradled you,
your mother nursing

cupping your head
so gently, skin blended,
smooth against cane,

I miss your childhood
giggles filling the walls,
sticky body clinging to wicker,

rebellious swell
inbelly of youth
refusing to be contained.

My frame has straddled
the war-torn, age-worn years
the rumbling call to arms

compelling, fresh as intent
slipping through fingers
escaping my frame

corrosive, sepia-stained
dust and debris strewn on floor
graffiti scrawled blindly.

I wait for your return
old man, the washed up
dredged up remains of war.


Kate Young lives in Kent and is passionate about poetry and literature. After retiring, she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in magazines internationally and in Great Britain. She is presently editing her work and writing new material, particularly in response to ekphrastic challenges.

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