Maxine Rose Munro

They were Old when I was Young

Her I didn’t visit, not myself.
She lived in one room. Curtains
I remember better than the face –
screens to corner that was Kitchen.
I remember no windows, one door,
one box bed. Her face, her name,
are not there.

Duncan, Kitty
He lived mainly in greenhouses
in his laird’s garden, one was
tomatoes – red, yellow, white
I swear. He showed me. She
lived in her kitchen, Rayburn
warm, baking relays through
one foot of clear space – rock
cakes, scones, bannocks. Cold
living room opened fifty-two
times per year. Sunday best
starched across their faces.

Wullie and Maggie
Tea on a saucer with
a Parkinson’s shake
and sunlight laying
on white formica.
Childhood is blind.
I couldn’t see,
under their smiles
their struggles.

Copyright © Maxine Rose Munro 2017

Maxine Rose Munro was born in the Shetland Islands and has never recovered from the culture shock she received when she moved to Glasgow. She can be found at


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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2 Responses to Maxine Rose Munro

  1. Antoinette says:

    Maxine, I adore “Wullie and Maggie.” Your point is so true, when we are young we do not see the struggle of the elderly. As a matter of fact it actually annoys us at times.

    • Maxine Rose Munro says:

      Thank you. Trying to capture in poetry the fragmented perceptions of a child was hard but worth it

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