Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Bells ringing. St Martin’s
Or St Paul’s. Polly doesn’t
Know. Turns over in the

Creaky double bed. Feels
Susie’s feet in her side.
She opens her tired eyes.

The attic is still there; she
Must have dreamed of
Another room. She sniffs

The air. Coldness, urine
From the chamber pot
Beneath the bed, staleness.

She stares at the off-white
Ceiling pushes Susie’s feet
From her side. She heard

Her snoring in the night,
The short cries. The ceiling
Has cobwebs, spiders sitting

In corners. She turns and
Faces Susie’s face poking
From the blankets. Her

Breath smelling of night,
Her hair messed up, her
Eyes tight shut dreaming

Of better places. Time to
Move. Time to wash and
Dress. Ice in the washbowl.

Clothes folded on the chair.
She pushes back the blankets
And sits on the edge of the

Bed, her feet dangling, her
Heels touching the chamber
Pot. Fireplaces to clear out,

Fires to prepare and light.
Down to the kitchen to help
The cook with the breakfasts.

Susie still sleeps behind her.
Shame to wake her. A maid’s
Work is never done. She shakes

Susie’s shoulder, calls her, shakes
Her again. Susie stirs, opens her
Eyes, stares, passes wind. Closes

Her eyes, shuts out the day, hears
Polly’s voice drowning out the
Kiss of sleep. Her shoulder shaken,

The blankets dragged off, the cold
Air bites flesh, the smell of urine
And staleness hits her nose, the

Day begins, the bells cease ringing,
Just the voice of Polly riding the
Cold air as she opens her eyes to stare.

Poem is set in 1916 London.