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