It reminds me of sweets we shared on the bus back from school, of the dilemmas boys face in rap battles, of my own mum, obviously, of being a mum, of all the conversations we have about family.
Such a simple painting, so deeply affecting because of all those thoughts and more: the shades of pink, the taste, slightly fizzy, competitions to see how long you could make a sweet last, sticking your tongue out to prove you still had a tiny sliver. That sliver making you the winner.
I was thinking about prizes this morning. How leaving social media has relieved me of them. How they've been put away for me until a friend is selected and momentarily I can celebrate with them. In fact a friend, the poet John McCullough has been celebrated recently and I am delighted for him.
But then I thought I'd look for a list of poetry prizes and I found one on the Poetry Society website. I also found this statement: "The competitions and prizes are a central part of The Poetry Society’s work."
Knackered from not sleeping last night, from then having to go to pick on the allotment before the rain got worse, I don't read it as an uplifting statement of intent. Oh dear. The Academy of American Poets, whose website I often use, states it was founded "to support American poets at all stages of their careers and to foster the appreciation of contemporary poetry."
A prize, a competition win, is great for the money - support for years of writing without much payment. But to make these two things central to your work? Your mum will say well done when you do well. But you hope she won't make it a condition of loving you.
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