Mixed media: Dried flowers Ivy branches Avocado skin sequins Samara seeds A A. Milne Music. H. Fraser-Simson (1926) photos school name tag.

Carolyn Savidge 2025.

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Sometimes

 

Don’t hurry asking me politely, how are you today?

Speak to me softly.

If people always ask me to tell them, I answer politely.

Always tell them enough, whilst cupping a dimmed stone heart.

Very glad to say, quite well, I shape in my head a cascading crescendo of other sounds and just say, thank you, how are you today?

To myself, answering in confidence, sometimes.

Rather embroidered around a clog jig, I used to dance.

Staccato tongue now and then, always tell them of love.

Muzzled, sometimes. Asking again, I wish they wouldn’t, my felt skin is missing a beat.

The staves have cut my body. Unreal lips stitched dry in the sun.

In confidence I face the rest.

When we were young the music loud or perhaps too soft.

As for the rest I can’t remember.

An echo in chords of enough as I recall.

On occasions, Carolyn Savidge, wear a name tag.

And then be held in ivy strand, not wearing a Bacchus wreath.

Silver samara, worn by others. Papery gold skins plaited in rough sutures.

Stitched generations hidden from the frame.

Always answer, quite well thank you.

And sometimes, just before they look away,