You
wave at us “hello!” from the roof of Lord Line,
the blue sky and clouds strike around you.
Below, we are walking among buddleia,
nettles, glass under our feet.
The buildings are crumbling in beauty,
nature reclaiming, bringing us to itself.
Though we know nothing about you it bonds us,
an invisible line stretching between.
The breaking buildings, the soft clouds in the wide blue sky,
the graffiti, the buddleia and brambles,
the smashed glass underfoot, the Humber constant,
and us here, we are unified
in this place, at Lord Line.
The
truth lives deep in soil,
natural, life-teeming, indisputable.
The foundations of the walls and shutters in our hearts
creak, holes gaping.
They are just dust, fragments,
the truth is acid on them, dissolving.
The truth springs – gazing in our eyes, shining:
saying “you are my mother, sister, father, brother,
I am your mother, sister, father, brother,
we belong, intimately.”
The truth lives deep within,
inherent, everlasting.
Our
family let in the squatters
into the empty house next door.
A couple, quiet and gentle;
and a woman, warm,
with colourful hair and a loud laugh.
Stopping by the house on the way home from school,
we sat on the doorstep with her,
making friendship bracelets and talking.
They took us to the fair, the man
carrying me on his shoulders.
She came to say goodnight,
leaning in to hug,
smelling of incense,
and left.
They were next door for two weeks
and then moved on.
But they stayed inside me,
enduring.
This
is a memory of a day bright,
expansive, encompassing.
You and me frolicking
in the sea hugging,
in the waves bobbing,
back and forth, joy,
the sun beating down, everlasting.
My two anchors are on the beach;
constant, dependable, weathered.
This memory is aching
in this four walled time
of constraint, simplicity, repeating.
My anchors are across the sea
unreachable.
We each scour our four walls for joy, bright seeking.
