A poem about family life; something dropped

Splinters

To begin with, you are perfect, unsullied,

A pristine exhibit, kept behind doors,

Held under glass in the museum of us;

Kept at arm's length there are no visible flaws.

Yet soon, there are scratches on the surface,

Scores in the glaze that has become your skin,

As you are slowly cooked in the family kiln;

And you’re no longer saved for Sundays’ service.

Later, you are a chipped part of the set,

Casually treated, knocked about a bit,

Used inappropriately, as an ashtray,

Or a receptacle for items gone astray

(Unidentified keys that fit no locks,

Buttons that will never be sewn back on,

Foreign coins from holidays never taken);

Or simply slipped, unregarded, under a plant pot.

Finally, you’re dropped by careless fingers,

A cause of curses and invective, an upset,

The pieces pushed aside, swept under the carpet;

Yet there will be blood, pain, insidious splinters.



This poem comes from the offcuts of the previous one, "Plasticine". Some lines didn't fit and later developed a life of their own.  If "Plasticine" deals with parents who are controlling, overbearing, seeking to shape the child into their own image, eventually to reject it, "Splinters" shows the turning away to indifference, neglect and another violent rejection.

Click here to watch the film on youtube A note on style

If the earlier poem, "The Beauty of it", was freer in style, looser in arrangement, it was because of its narrative elements.  "Plasticine" and "Splinters" were an attempt to create a more 'formal', precise yet general, image of parenthood, employing a  slightly variable rhyme scheme within four line stanzas.  I believe that rhyme in poems is sometimes important.  I certainly enjoy the discipline and challenge it brings to the act of writing. 

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