Patricia Prime


Framed, but kept in the desk drawer, proof that I once fitted in the crook of his arm.  Proof too that he gave me his smile and the wave of his hand as he left for Germany.  He stands tall and proud beside the gate in our English garden, that corner of a December sky, his soldier’s hat slightly askew.  I’m a year old.

Now, I’m older than he was when he died, but I have the memory of being hoisted to his shoulder to see the Changing of the Guard, the Queen and Prince Philip celebrating their wedding day above the crowds on the balcony of Buckingham Palace.  Later, we walked around Trafalgar Square, sat atop the back of a stone lion, feeding the pigeons, our faces cold.  The wind scooping clouds into a pile, stratocumulus, he said, but they looked like clouds to me.

driving home
smog blurs the city


Patricia is co-editor of Kokako, reviews editor of Takahe and Stylus, and is assistant editor of Haibun Today.  She has interviewed various poets and editors and currently has poems appearing in the World Poetry Anthology 2010 (Mongolia).