The Property

occupies a mature plot
with extensive views over the countryside
 
is close to the town centre
presented to a high standard, subject
 
of considerable recent investment
offers a great deal of scope – equestrian but
 
affording comfortable family accommodation –
a secluded retreat for one
 
boasts security locks, takes advantage
of a west-facing garden, enjoys –
 
oh how it enjoys – exposed beams,
gold-plated taps, a whirlpool bath
 
this deceptive property – internal viewing
strongly recommended –
 
whichever one it is gets you inside –
will probe your bank account
 
insist you defend it
from woodworm and floods
 
years later let you go
haunted
 
by a pattern of cracks across a bedroom ceiling
of leaf shadows on a wall at evening
 

Jean Harrison

Highly commended in the Poetry on the Lake competition 2013

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Rain

Yesterday we were discussing the queen’s little smile
in a still face, Good evening, Mr Bond,  
and how then a small woman in a tight suit
was trotting meekly beside him down the wide palace stairs,  
we had the illusion she was with him in a helicopter
and jumped. We loved it – the queen not standing on her dignity.  
Does a queen have anything else
to stand on? Such divinity – you know?  
When she visited the school next door
and the cleaners came out pushing their bicycles  
their faces were shining –
She asked if we liked working here.  
Now I have this feel of an old woman in her Jubilee year
being like a person standing with no expression  
looking out at rain. It’s not likely she’d be thinking
how people in one part of Yorkshire set blocks of limestone  
on top of walls in order to watch them dissolve
to weird shapes. It’s a strange local custom.  
There’s no evidence she was thinking at all.
 

Jean Harrison

published in The North, 2011

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Learning to Walk

A small child edges sideways
left foot then right, plants each firmly
clings onto banisters
 
looks through and down
towards feet crossing the hall, stopping
as a door handle squeaks, voices gust out,
 
goes on testing how you steady a body
against wooden uprights,
looking down the vertical face of a wall.
 

Jean Harrison

commended in The Plough competition, 2012

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The Bedroom

her chest-of-drawers between two windows
unclear grain-lines under thick glass
flimsy metal handles rattle if touched
 
shallow drawers jerk onto unfamiliar scents
lily-of-the-valley she said        but it wasn’t like flowers
a powder puff loaded with pink that clogs her skin
 
silk stockings she slides up white legs          stretches her toes down
into the tips as if for someone else to see             next to them
her knickers       her petticoats
 
she’s downstairs now   stringy arms      reddened hands
poking the point of an iron into corners of pillow-cases
grey hair wild across a cheek
 
‘Right-hand top drawer,’ she said and I’m dithering
their left my right    but to try both      put my hand in
rummage for the hanky she wants
 
in front of the mirror which are the true eyes
those I saw her with last          their backs to my shoulder-blades
or doubles    staring back         reversed and tricky
 

Jean Harrison

published in Seam, 2007

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