A Day on the 'Hill

You were so rich -

inlaid with truth and humour,

like seams of gold and silver.

The poverty of the surroundings could not change that.

This is how I remember it - and you.

Ice on the inside of the windshield,

and cold laminate floors.

and thick, greasy bacon on chewy rolls.

It is a bucketful of memory distilled,

A childhoodful of moments infused,

percolated into one seamless morning in the fog of the past.

Chunky VHS tapes,

staticky music videos and names that felt foreign on a childish tongue,

and huge, rough hands weaving fine plaits,

and loose golden hairs falling like spiderwebs.

This is what I remember when I think of you -

a mattress on the floor piled high,

pillows and blankets and a ragged stuffed toy,

and the feeling of fabric being tucked in tights.

The smell of coffee and spices,

the growing gloom of night and the orange light from the street and music down low...

and silence before the door closed.

The utter safety of a heavy arm,

and life parting around my childs body like water -

held at bay by the rock of you.

I was a calm pool, for a moment.