Go draw the window curtains,
for it’s the arsenic hour
when sad memories make visits,
and wait for us to answer
their knocks upon the door.
They mustn’t know we’re home,
so click off all the music…
turn pictures to the wall…
sit motionless with cushions.
For they will test the door locks,
peer through the window shades,
and listen for the sounds
of footsteps on the stairs.
Artwork by Louis le Brocquy
17 thoughts on “The Arsenic Hour”
Terrific … in the old sense: terrifying.
First heard “arsenic hour” from a mourning friend who used it sardonically while facing her sadness. Appreciate, as always, your insight, Ward.
Grateful you think so. Smiles.
Very encouraging…and I thank you. Smiles.
Incredible isn’t it?
I’m unsure how to reply. Smile.
If I’d written anything of this caliber I’d hold up a sign, heck wear a T-shirt, proclaiming it! Superb. This is a winner.
How generous and encouraging you are…thank you. Smiles.
I wouldn’t wax so lyrical but I read large quantities of poetry and yours is hands over fists ones of the very, very best I ever have read. I hope you publish it. It’s extremely good.
Hope you sense how very much I appreciate your sustaining comments. Smiles.
I like that. Sustaining comments. I hope to read more of your work, bravo! Xxx
This is just brilliant
I’m grateful you think so. Smile.
Even better on a second and third read. So suggestive…
Once a friend spoke those words, I knew I’d need to write this poem. Pleased you like it.