Recall My Great-Grandparents Home

Recall My Great-Grandparents Home
 
In the extension
of an architect's
drawn up dream
a recorder  
I played,
and My Little Pony
and Pokemon,
marbles, piles
of Polly Pocket,  
played God
on the floor.
There was a black
cassette Walkman,
and a bureau
with endless
types of paper,
happening - graph,
trace, lined
and graceless,
scribbles,
stuffed.  
I could be,  
not be
within it,
disappear
faceless,
all hair
rich air,  
the love
of a garden swing,  
red and green covering
and autumn light,  
that smoke bush
I thought was witch hazel.  
I could hold my head
in New York ash,  
colour the face
of my Mother,
write our alphabet
with my feet
or upside down,
read Blyton,  
no one minded.  
My keeper
named none.  
At ten to three
I'd be offered
a knife skinned apple
beside the dog,  
custard cream,
mind lost
on the elasticity
of dreams.  
I hope she finds
a space as free
to hummingbird,  
a home
as homely
as that.  
The chariot
of imagination
awaits her,
lifelong reasons
to get out of bed.