Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

. The Small Pleasure of Folding Clothes: After Anne Sexton’s - Consorting with the Angels. What has changed Anne? I am a mother, the spoons and pans are still here to anchor me to life And the parts of life that take time and are a bore, are part of the routine of Cooking, cleaning, washing, feeding, caring, solving problems, combing nits, cutting the grass, vacuuming the floor, feeding the pets. Part of the joy of this manual labour is its simplicity Its rest from the poem, the painting, the teaching That occupies my mind and hands the rest of the time. There is a small pleasure in folding clothes and putting them into each ones hands. In a freshly made bed, in things ordered and put away. God knows – you do know God How I have struggled with the house and all it entails How I have fought being needed by little ones And been disappointed by rejected caresses as they grow and change. My head and hands yearn for Paint, a pencil, making, thinki...

Diamonds Funny old day today.  My hair is wet from washing,  the light shade is wafting with the currents of warm air rising from the portable radiator. Nathaniel is sleeping and sweating by my side,  and I've spent the day in hiatus. Waiting. Thinking. Reflecting. Undoing. Folded inside myself Is a paper packet. How incongruous that a priceless collection of diamonds Is folded like 4 oz. of sugar in a sheet of white paper. Where are the velvet cushions?  The tasselled and monocled butler; The ladies maid and personal assistant, The relatives ready to dirty their hands if it will bring the paper packet hey presto into their pocket.  Once Dad, unpractised with the magician’s suit, Instead of a silk scarf, Brought out from the coat tails a desiccated,  wrinkled old lemon. Folded inside myself a paper fold of diamonds. There is only one beautiful one....