This is a true story
I would not marry into that house.
I couldn’t condemn
my unconceived children
to their strange bloodline:
oddly shaped ears, a mad uncle,
small boys packed off to Eton,
and an imperious matriarch
reigning over the tea-table.
God, the mother loved to bake.
I was suspicious of her flirtation
with domesticity, seeing as
they had staff, but she was a pro
with the first incision,
opening up Victoria sponge
like a neurosurgeon,
and she’d wave that knife in the air,
if she disliked the conversation.
I marvelled at their gift
for turning near-miss into legend:
He almost rowed for Oxford, you know!
Giles practically climbed Everest in ‘92!
Years later, I found a photo of us,
frozen for the camera,
at a table covered with sugar.
I’d told the story to so many –
this crazy rich family! –
that I could barely recall
how much of it was theirs,
and how much mine. I confess,
matriarch held no scalpel
in the shot; the light was kind,
the cakes appeared delicious,
and all their ears looked fine.
‘This Is a True Story’ © Sarah Stewart.
I would not marry into that house.
I couldn’t condemn
my unconceived children
to their strange bloodline:
oddly shaped ears, a mad uncle,
small boys packed off to Eton,
and an imperious matriarch
reigning over the tea-table.
God, the mother loved to bake.
I was suspicious of her flirtation
with domesticity, seeing as
they had staff, but she was a pro
with the first incision,
opening up Victoria sponge
like a neurosurgeon,
and she’d wave that knife in the air,
if she disliked the conversation.
I marvelled at their gift
for turning near-miss into legend:
He almost rowed for Oxford, you know!
Giles practically climbed Everest in ‘92!
Years later, I found a photo of us,
frozen for the camera,
at a table covered with sugar.
I’d told the story to so many –
this crazy rich family! –
that I could barely recall
how much of it was theirs,
and how much mine. I confess,
matriarch held no scalpel
in the shot; the light was kind,
the cakes appeared delicious,
and all their ears looked fine.
‘This Is a True Story’ © Sarah Stewart.
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Sarah Stewart reads her poem 'This is a True Story'.
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Sarah Stewart reads her poem 'Records'.
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Sarah Stewart reads her poem 'MRI'.
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