Two poems by Peter Clive

Safe

I have always loved this sound
since before I can remember:
the rain on the window,
the skylight, the roof, outside.
I force myself into the edge
where the bed meets the wall,
make myself as small as possible,
make myself vanish into the sound,
lose myself in its amniotic embrace.

*

The latch

Son, I remember
when you locked yourself
in the bathroom
when you were two.
I described through the door
how to use the latch
so you could let yourself out.
I wish I knew how
to get you to open up
that place you are in now
that locks from the inside,
in case, instead of a latch,
you find another way out
that doesn’t bring you back
into my arms.


Peter Clive lives on the southside of Glasgow, Scotland with his wife and three children. He is a scientist working in the renewable energy sector. As well as poetry, he enjoys composing music for piano and spending time in the Isle of Lewis.


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