parsley darlin'

thirteen kids

no mean feat

fifteen actually

two died young

life is hard

mouths to feed

bodies to clothe

feet to shod

(hand-me-downs never look good)

rising early

house is cold

furniture bare

floorboards creek

light the fire

....need the loo

shared loo outside

stinks inside

(freezing in there too)

washing to do

boil the water

scrubadubdub

wring them in the mangle

sweating face

aching arms

chapped hands

hang the washing out

(let's hope it doesn't rain)

dinner to cook

skin the rabbit

rabbit stew

skin the veg - carrots and potatoes

in the yard

parsley grows

grab a handful

adds some flavour

(along with some salt and pepper)

chopping parsley

dishevelled lad

"wot's that mom?"

"it's parsley darlin'" she said

off he runs

down the shop

with a penny

to buy some pop

(and a couple of lollipops)

days pass by

drab routine

day in day out

always the same

another rabbit

more rabbit stew

dishevelled lad

there again

(watching the skinning)

watches intently

his mother works on

dishevelled lad

knows something's missin'

trying to think

he goes in the yard

sees the herb

- it's parsley darlin'!

(that's what's missin')

picks some sprigs

runs into his mom

hands her a bunch

"don't forget the parsley darlin'"

......don't forget the parsley darlin', darlin'.....

©  Sonya Katasheva  2012

Author notes: Based on a true story: my father is the child and his mother is my grandmother. Set in the back-to-back slum houses of Birmingham, UK in the 1930s where the people were very poor and often had very large families. This is my own style – experimenting with arrhythmic timing etc – just fun to write :)

Image:  Public Domain (www.walktheworld.org.uk)

REMEMBRANCE - To a Soldier

I will never know 
  your voice,
 I will never know
your smile

 ....but I know that
You gave

 I will never know
  your loves
 I will never know
your hates.

...but I know that 
 You gave

 .....you gave your life
 in the war to end all wars
 (so-called),
 on the Somme.
 KIA
(so they say)

 I will never know
  how you died
 I will never know
your wounds.

But I know 
 you left behind
 a poor widow
 and three children, fatherless.

 I will never know
  your dying thoughts
 I will never know
  where your body is laid

 But I know 
 the widow remarried
 and bore my father.
 She is our Matriarch,
 the Pivot of our family tree
 round which we all gather.

 You will never know
  Me
 And I would not

Be
but for you....
 Your Death gave me Life

 I Remember that
 I Remember you
I Thank You

©  Sonya Katasheva  2012

Author's Note - In memory of Henry Joseph Jarvis who was killed in action of July 1st 1916 on the Somme ........ and his widow, my grandmother Rosina who was left with 4 children under 6 one of whom also died the same year.  She eventually remarried my grandfather.  I would never have been born but for the death of Henry Jarvis.