Fly Away Home

XXIII - Homes for Other Lives

I don't really think of you that often

-that was a different life, a different existence altogether-

but there are small freckles

of blurry memories and recollected snapshots

from early, early childhood

like climbing over baby gates

and the blue travel cot (which I also climbed out of)

the old lady with the white hair, black and white photograph, foggy

and eyes looming over me on night trips to the bathroom

(she scared me, along with the giant dream butterfly in the hallway)

and the dreams where I was flying and floating in the air in the phosphenes

in my bedroom, above the beds and around the curtains 

how real it was, that sensation of flying, balloon-like and magical

I never ever remember sitting down to dinner, not once

nor the taste of much food apart from nectarines and pizza dough on the counter

but I remember Bassetts soft & chewy and Calpol which we could have so easily eaten as sweets

and the cherry blossom against the snow that day in spring

and Forrest Stores with pocket money and Jason showing me a humongous sharkfish (what was it?)

the sink in my bedroom, the fairies at the bottom of the garden,

the broken blue vase and the Rupert Bear money box, early Saturday mornings and biscuits

the garden and the little toad statue we hid among the shrubs,

Scrumpy laid on Simone's bed

watching out for the postman in the morning

with her head in her paws.

(1st February 2014)