Here 10 and 7 years and then today
Tomorrow (or next week, next year), gone
From the place that carried me
Along the way from then to now, both times
elusive as the last.
Time is not a place to sit and stay
Roll over or play dead upon a map until
a council meet cedes 1998 to France or Russia
It seems an ever fixed mark
until the day you go.
And then return.
And find that nothing's what you though you knew you thought.
You knew your mother 'til you found she had
a life and friends and always something
else to do - never too busy
for you
and yet -
surely you knew your room.
But was it always such a tragic shade of pink?
If I squint my eyes just so I see it now.
This place, that time.
And a me in the middle
reminiscing on the future.