Reading the Signs |
Thrownness
stirred all about
aware of otherness
loosing a sense of belonging
awake.
Grandad’s wisdoms
granny’s laugh
milk spilt
good things ending
their sitting in silence
seeming saintly
gentle as a lamb
I can still hear the tiny frogs
and smell the rotting grass
hear the peas rattle in the tin
see the gasometer
feel the love
touch the gate
of my learnings.