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Dates

Dates

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.

Dave Reeves

 

Dave Reeves

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.