The sound of birds
and soft air
made me think of
cottages in Tottenham
all those ago years
I was the only one
who saw them
well, the only one who walked there
traversing miles
with a sleeping child
music in my ears
mid-green haze
dappled English sun
never blazed
quietly rolling through
knife-crime enclaves
and weird parks
no one used
the way I-
stepped the streets
keeping on-side of sane
and baby
entertained
Now a smooth Jenga piece
that slots in my brain
time out of mind
small corner of terrain
untravelled often
fond and strange
tunnel-vision place
new seasons carry
old memories’ trace
Photo: “Seven Sisters Snail” by Claire Doble
clairevetica 
Nostalgic. You penned it beautifully
I will never forget staying at your place and opening the door to a charity collector and upon answering “Australia” to the question “where are you from?” being stared at incredulously and asked the follow up question “why the fuck are you here, bruv?”
It feels like a long way from suburban Australia that’s for sure. Recently read Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race and the author grew up in Tottenham and talks about the ridiculous levels of inequality in Haringey.
Memories, Like a part of us that falls into today from the past. I really liked these lines
Thanks Ali x
Now a smooth Jenga piece
that slots in my brain
time out of mind