The prompt over at Mum Turned Mom is History, which immediately makes me think of Herstory, and how History is written by the victors, and there are many stories to explain the same event, and even one person's story changes over time, and memory is malleable and all that stuff.
I wasn't going to do it, because I didn't want it to be too big and too heavy, and I've had so much fun working on a short story I'm submitting to a competition, which is weird because I usually hate writing short stories, but this was perfect, so I celebrated that story with a cup of coffee, in a cup my sister gave me which she didn't realise would match my new wallpaper/curtains - I can't remember, I was pretty sure it was wallpaper, but have no memory of wallpapering, although I am still pretty sure there was wallpaper, particularly on the wall with cupboards and a fireplace, because that was a total pain to do. There must have been wallpaper, but there were definitely curtains, three of them, because we still had those when we moved here.
Anyway, all this thought made me think that there's history in all the objects, significant or not, and so I wrote a poem about the history/herstory/mystory I've attached to this coffee cup.
Coffee
With two blue clicks
and a memory of wallpaper
I am awakened.
And then wonder
if I have a recollection
of wallpapering.
Was it curtains?
How temperamental our memories.
Temporarily mental.
Take out, remoulded.
Wallpaper is better.
But walls and curtains are gone
and the gift remains.
The cup from my sister
holding warm brown
sweetened wakefulness.
Ⓒ Cara L McKee 17/1/17
Coffee
With two blue clicks
and a memory of wallpaper
I am awakened.
And then wonder
if I have a recollection
of wallpapering.
Was it curtains?
How temperamental our memories.
Temporarily mental.
Take out, remoulded.
Wallpaper is better.
But walls and curtains are gone
and the gift remains.
The cup from my sister
holding warm brown
sweetened wakefulness.
Ⓒ Cara L McKee 17/1/17
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