25th February 2021

tiny spots of blue
a colander in the cloud level
flitting sparrows

© Rachel Green February 2021

They chainsawed the old plum trees
where I learned to love fruit
and steal the sweet, bursting eggs
from under the feet of drunken wasps.
My childhood
buried under a tarmac road
to a custom built garage
where I built my den
and camped out overnight;
where I built a fall-out bunker
that was huge
only in my imagination
and the damson tree died
because, according to my dad,
I climbed it too often.

© Rachel Green February 2021