This brings back pleasant memories to me
The unremitting loneliness of cities
When I was younger and my granddad’s
hand still fit snug
in mine,
I learnt that birds
fly south for the winter.
“That’s ridiculous,”
I said.
“How do they find each other
again when they get
home?”
He looked at me then,
tore his eyes away
from the ocean –
I thought it stretched on forever –
and told me;
“Someone wise once said
that home is where
the heart
is,
and I suppose
that if they stay together
then they can’t get
far lost.”
I didn’t understand; home
was blackberries and
tea and the smell
of Sunday dinner
on Tuesday;
but later that night
as I walked
by the sea, I
saw footprints –
the sand was scarred
and etched with curling toes
and heels.
Two sets intertwined, and I
felt warm, as though
my mother had wrapped me in blankets
and set me
on her knee,
and I…
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