And Small Birds Sing

the house stirs

doors are shut

sun beams in

i am awake

indian music

plays softly

from the kitchen

wafting like spices

poems hung

on the walls

abstract art

everywhere

the mistress’

little touches

throughout

but she’s not here

downstair neighbours

come and go

their numbers grow

vagrants wander

and in my rooms

my pictures hung

an uncle’s lamp

lights waiting laundry

my bonsai grows

new green buds

i pull off everyone

like horsefly wings

in a corner

my mac shines

its calling light

reminds me to write

while wet towels hang

slowly drying

on the back of the door

beside my robe

the sporadic smell

of mary jane

lingers round

stirring memories

lock the door

and start walking

today i climb the hill

ignored too long

the first step

always the hardest

a hurdle leapt

and small birds sing

~e