A House Under Wraps

By

 Peter Cowlam

Relics. They’re heaped, broken in the basement,

Suburban lumber, beachcomber flotsam

Left by the tides (the child grown to a man,

And home again on a halcyon sea).

Remembrance, here by an unlit casement:

A kneehole under sheets, drawers in a jam

On faded snaps, a girl’s unsteady hand,

Her coloured notelets headed with a P.

Instant recall, the clamour of voices

In an empty attic. Dormer curtains

Shed the years of dust in a salty breeze.

The silhouettes my lighted match has thrown

On a wall – these are student delusions

A creak on the stairs has me re-conceive.

Peter Cowlam is the author of literary fiction, plays and poetry. His second novel, New Suit for King Diamond, published in 2002, was nominated for the Booker Prize. A brief stint as a commissioning editor saw two issues of The Finger, a journal of politics, literature, and culture. His fiction, poems and reviews are published in a wide range of print and online journals.