the backs of discarded earrings found on heater sills, the odd socks down sofa cushions, pen lids in the corner of rooms, batteries rolled from view underneath cupboards, bookmarks stuck fast to coffee tables, the book holding even the table leg, the hairband wound around the blind cord, the Christmas cards that have fluttered down from end of season high to rest on surfaces, packed upon by bills and pliers and fuse plugs and instructions and spare envelopes, the blu-tack sculpture rolled between thumb and finger picked off from calendars, posters and photos
possessions now in boxes, supermarket bags and carrier bags, holdalls with busted zips
stains, stray hairs and the imprint of wooden legs
i lock in
finding new ways to adapt –
new way of getting places, shortcuts through rows of houses, new faces – neighbours, dog walkers and pub owner
same skyline, different angle to aspire from, building tops puncturing the blue –
spires as needles, moving in tandem on a machine –
threading a tapestry
as i fly by on my bicycle.
Kate Lewington is a writer/poet and blogger. She writes on the themes of belonging, loss, mental illness & hope. She is passionate about learning, social justice, food, music and comedy.