In the apple tree of my childhood
You sat across from me
All tangled blonde hair
And bloody knees
I remember wrapping up long grass in leaves and smoking it
To imitate our mothers who were absent until meal times
We had an underground fort
And an igloo
Leeches in the lake and
Salt in the shaker
The child you were
Has become the man you are:
An addict. Cynical and fearful. Alone
With neither apple trees nor friends to sit in them
Douglas. Dougie. Doug.
At what point between the garden and the house did I lose you?
- London, April 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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