unable to sleep - the shadows, the wind
I walk my childhood village before dawn
from the station, noting all is as it was
pebble dashed concrete walls, red headers
the 50s prefab semis, the garages
the sycamore trees, the central giant oak
along the footpaths of Jarvis Fields
where I lived until I was 18
I pause next to the municipal street sign
the old one: metal, sturdy, solid
and painted dark council green
I head along the concrete path
everything long since torn down, replaced
by contemporary, expensive town houses
but a memory at number 13 - a wicker basket
by the fireplace, nursing kindling and small logs
and my mother, busy vacuuming
then dusting around the window frames
she doesn't see me out here in the dark
watching as she gathers up the cobwebs
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