Welcome to day 9 of National Poetry Writing Month. Today I have tried to write about childhood. One of my first memories is sitting in the unfinished kitchen of my childhood home watching builders finish the room around me. The floor; cold naked concrete and no glass in the windows. I sat eating smarties out of a cup, because out of a cup it felt special, more grown up. So that is why this poem is called Smarties. The rhythm and stanzas are off but it's only a first draft as I've had no time to edit.
Smarties
Smarties
Your toes on the floor
Legs curled under
Beneath you naked concrete
Cold behind the knees
You leave them in the cup
Red yellow and blue
Eat only the pink
The ones that look like dreams
You watch builders through frames
Painting the kitchen wall
Filling in the holes
That your parents left behind
They say that when it’s finished
It will be an archway
A grey solid halo
At one end of the house
You curl in your dress
Legs bare against the floor
Cup of smarties in one hand
Red yellow and blue
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