She has died
A spot of life and suburban lustre
In the periphery of my childhood

Nailpolish, cigarettes, lipstick, candles
Her small orange Meteor
That sat like a full stop at the end of our street

Her Esoteric book shop. Crystals and tapestry
Jewel colours and sunbursts. Was there macramé too?
It was the 80s

Millie the friendly white Labrador
The hot tub
A plush golden-brown corner lounge

Her bedroom, slightly exotic and the smell
of perfume, makeup, incense, cigarettes (she quit eventually, I think)
And champagne

Sharing a glass of wine with mum
At the end of the day
Now I know how lovely that is
To have a friend
Just down the road
Who’ll chat with you as the kids entertain themselves

“She always said she could tell it was me at the door because of the way I knocked with the door knocker which made me feel strangely special”
says James

She once showed us the Godlight
shining through clouds above the ocean – not religious, but holy
I always call it that when I see it now

The holiday houses where we were welcome
Never too neat. Sand underfoot
Just perfect. Goodbye x

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