in which I realise how to grow spanish shawl

The pram rocked with the child’s cries

To the blue sky above, to the migrating birds

Who flew past the little blob wailing and

Calling like a romulus into the empty

Suburban quiet. The absences grew


A  groundcover spreading over space,

Grew a garden around the lament

Grew music in every blank spot,

Made a language of replenishment.

We suffused the silence with reassuring


Nonsense seeping warmth into dark nooks

Blood ran through roots

Requiring watering, daily, to keep alive.

I tried to be your spanish shawl

Wrapped you up warm, carried you


Sat, laughed, chattered, cajoled

You so that you thought I would

I could, save you

That day

When you became a child again.


Covering ground is back-breaking

Trailing tendrils set out bravely.

A peopled polis is born to soothe

A howling fear. The sound of a garden

Grows in absentia, struggling to create

Something in the vast expanse of time.



Copyrighted by the author


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