Somewhere to Live
I like the way this privet
stands its ground,
the waist-high lavender,
crazy paving,
tubs.
These winter trees, that never touch,
remind me of Mother and the Aunts,
how, in the end, I felt their twigs,
like children’s fingers,
tug.
I want to join again with buds, bees,
swing upside down with apples,
wave at grass – watch how it weaves itself
like straw,
ready to catch me
if I fall.