The Slate Museum
Machinery peeled from sudden rain over the shoulder
of black light the chwarel quarrel yr hen ddyn a’i hammer
his chisel splitting the hard word to the grandfather clock I start
to remember, this is the story of the girl and her little
black cat, the cat her father drowned and mam is spreading
her bread and her butter too thin into the pattern
of a plate – the cat was called Betsan I think, then
wasn’t, of course, I don’t want to think about the bucket, his
boots or the slate, this wasn’t me, please, believe me I am trying to
mis-remember.
Eluned Jones lives and works in Aberystwyth in mid Wales. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Orbis, Brittle Star, The Frogmore Papers and Obsessed with Pipework.
Notes:
chwarel – quarry
yr hen ddyn a’i – the old man and his