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We ate fish on Fridays

"How's Ann getting on?"

By Hannah MoorePublished 4 months ago Updated 3 months ago 1 min read
We ate fish on Fridays
Photo by Eduardo Barrios on Unsplash

On Tuesdays, I bring you fresh battered fish.

Its not Friday, I know, but you do not.

On Saturday I read you crossword clues.

You listen, I think, to my voice.


Our son stops by on most Sunday mornings,

And you ask him, on good days, "How is Ann?"

And four times, five times, nine times, thirteen times,

He does not explain that she's dead.


On Thursdays, at dusk, I take out the bins,

And you cry in the fast darkening house,

A thin keening, a lament for yourself,

Noticing you are lost, alone.


Some days you ask me, angry and frightened,

When I will come back, or where I have gone,

And I am standing in full light, present,

Knowing I am insufficient.


On Fridays I take you to the front room,

And we listen to Chuck, Bo and Elvis,

And on the best days, you catch my eye,

And I see you, for a moment,

knowing me.

love poems

About the Creator

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insight

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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Comments (3)

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  • C. H. Richard3 months ago

    Quite beautiful, this story within the poem. Hearted and subscribed.

  • Em Starr3 months ago

    This is so raw and poignant. A beautiful poem.

  • Kendall Defoe4 months ago

    A lovely meditation on a relationship...and great taste in music, too!

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