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