The sunlight I once knew.
That yellow light that crept over
the slates and dripped to the tarmac.
Garages with corrugated roofing
that kept the snow from sliding.
Houses with gable and hip roofs
that now have a buckle of solar panels.
The tree that reached for the sky,
even stroked the clouds when we
were small. Graffiti on the walls
and swear words in the puddles
of teenage spit from years ago.
New neighbours with quiet eyes.
Swifts that came for a generation
now lost to the winds. The banging
footballs that hammered away time,
just an echo in the ears of myself.
Moving back to a place I once knew,
is like a tree picking up the leaves
it lost in autumn, and asking them
to belong again.
Gareth lives in Wales. He has his first collection out now by FutureCycle called The Miner. He hopes one day to achieve something special with the pen.
Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her poetry has been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Mookychick, Moonchild Magazine, Occulum, Faded Out and many other publications. Follow her on Twitter: 
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