Ninth Stone: First Cough

My cough reminds me of childhood; hearing someone, an adult, making the same sound. My grandmother? Grandfather? The sound has the same colours as my grandparents’ sitting room which always seemed dark, with the window masked by the pot plants brought weekly by the various grandchildren, the leather armchairs, Toby jugs on a high shelf, a fire in the grate and brass bells shaped like ladies in nineteenth century clothes on the mantelpiece above.I can see my grandfather with a linen hankerchief flowering over his face. But I can’t hear his cough. My cough is a hook that does not quite meet the eye of memory.

More Ninth Stones.


12 thoughts on “Ninth Stone: First Cough

  1. You are really a good writer. Your goal for 2013 was to write more and I really hope you do – after you are feeling better of course.

    • Thanks Pat. I appreciate your praise. Tonight is the first poetry class. With my cough and red nose I doubt if anyone will want to sit near me and I see part of the class is about meeting each other. So I shall solace myself with your comment!

  2. Love your post. I love ‘My cough is a hook that does not quite meet the eye of memory.’
    That so exactly sums it up.
    There are so many hooks that don’t quite meet the eyes of memory.
    Beautifully put.
    A strange, nostalgic frustration, a kind of inverted pleasure.

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