My first collection, now out of print.
The bike is leaned against a wall,
I'm lifted down, a gate unlatched;
Led up the yard he used to play in,
Weeks of tea leaves in the drain;
Through fusty kitchen to a room
Whose fire glares, rising in its grate.
My outdoor things keep me safe
From their strangers' claim on me.
A clock shouts from the mantel, filling words
That father, son, stepmother reach to use.
He holds out his arms. I edge
Closer to dad, try "Going now?".
Dandelions For Mothers' Day
"Pee-the-Beds" and "Mother-Die!"
"Pick it and your mam'll die!"
"Faces like the sun." she said
Plunged them in a jam-jar.
But they caught up with her: -
Stained her skin yellow,
Turned her hair to seed-clocks,
Blew away her years.