- You are here:
I prefer figs. Their particular grit sands the
past in a way that grander pits never can.
Dates have hard centres. Remember?
Hurt: that birthday, that wedding,
that molar. Anchored with angels,
portraits, urns, diaries and poems they
root for an annual acknowledgement;
like rosemary, poppy, cornflower, albatross
– each with its own stone reminding.
Give me to the wind and to forgetting.
About this poem
Dave Reeves was well-known to poetry audiences throughout the West Midlands; he performed at many Poetry on Loan gigs. We were all saddened to hear of Dave's recent death. This poem was a close runner-up for this year's poetry postcards.
Alison McKellar, Dave's partner, writes:
Dates is a very special and uniquely Dave Reeves sort of poem, full of wit and wordplay, and reflecting on life and it's markers only months before he died – way, way too soon.
We read it aloud (along with a few others ending with his Brexit poem (one of last years published POL postcards) at a tidying and sorting and poetry reading celebration held on his allotment on Friday 30th August. Dave would have been 66 on 14th September.