Finishing Touch

We pipe vanilla frosting

On to the top of the 

Fairy cakes

Like the way our lines end

It is our finishing touch

Her hands are sticky

But her eyes are alive

We can cope when it is quiet

The big dog scares us

We huddle up in bed

Try not to hear

Its bark

The thumping of its feet

We place the cakes 

On a pretty plate

And put the kettle

On the stove for tea

It is almost a ritual 

Something simple

With a beginning

And an end

She wipes her hands 

On a napkin

I let cool water

Wash my fingers

Splash a little on my face

The cold helps too

The heat makes us sleepy

But there is still a day to go

Before bed

And dreams

The things we like best 

Perhaps that is

Our finishing touch

Closing our eyes

Both happy 

And sad

That another day 

Has passed. 

Farm

We are standing at the sink

Punch drunk

Washing dishes

They drop through our hands

Like spiders

Falling is such a 

Primitive move

I much prefer kicking

She exclaims 

I would fight my way

Out of any hole

I believe her

And know that she

Would do it with grace

The clouds pass

By the window 

We think of the farm

Where grandfather 

Sits on the porch 

Just another thing

We dreamed

After the farm

Was sold

To FedEx 

Now we are stuck 

In the tall building

No grass beneath our feet

Just noise

And shouting

Things which makes us 

Feel unsafe

We put the dishes

To one side

Lie down on the bed

Close our eyes

And imagine fields

Horses 

Cows

And sheep

How we would like to buy 

The farm back

But those days are done 

And here we must stay.

Doors

 

You painted forty five women

On the doors to the gallery

We would like to walk through them

One day

Let our hands feel the carvings

Let each face speak to us

On the radio you said

It was a mixture of women

A nurse

Old 

Young

Different ethnicities 

How very clever 

Says Alice

Of course

I am already inside

She continues 

Looking out at all who see

Hoping that someone 

Like you 

Will find me

We eat Cherry Bakewell's 

For breakfast

We can because 

We are not women yet

We are both old and young 

Knowing but naive 

We wait in our own bed

For the day to end 

You will be in the world forever

Just like Alice

Except you are real

I would like you to draw my flesh

Carve out the lumps and scars

Make me real

But we are stuck here

In this tiny room

Forever dreaming

Jam grazing our lips. 

For Tracey Emin's Doors 

The Road

At the end of the world

We will walk down

The road

Together

There will be no time 

For jam or tea

All there will be 

Is survival

It's the same 

As now then

She whispers

And I agree 

We inhabit 

Our own apocalypse 

Lying still 

Underneath the window

Our feet hurt

When we walk

And we have baggage

Like a shopping trolley

Full of supplies

Inevitable that we will lose

Perhaps we will be happy

That we are taking 

The journey together

Perhaps the dust

The cold

The grey

Will become as familiar

As the red bed 

In the end of course

I will have to leave you

Only the young 

Can move on

Survive 

That would make me cry

But I would not show you

I would leave you

In the care of someone else

Maybe without me

You will grow

Never

She stamps her feet

Then on we must journey

Limping and tired

On this never ending

Road. 

Statue

We take a walk 

In the park

On a cloudy afternoon 

Our heads throb

We are waiting for the cold

We walk in circles

Leave footprints 

In the leaves 

Below the clouds 

The birds sing 

Sharp as glass

They bear witness

To everything that happens 

Here 

Their song is rapid

And chill

Like the bullets

The boy uses 

To shoot at the statue 

His tiny pale finger

Wrapped around the trigger

It spoils the scene 

But we understand 

Why he shoots

Was the statue a bad man

She asks

I think so 

Little Cricket 

I reply

And she smiles

Then I am glad there 

Will be holes in him 

She reaches for my hand 

And we head for home 

Glad that the bullets

Missed us.

In the Garden

 

You stand against the wall

In the garden

Look at him

Eyes knowing

Just a child 

But so old

Trapped forever 

In somebody else's eyes 

I wish you had come 

To me sooner

I wish that you could grow

Fight back

Just like you did 

In Wonderland 

I wonder what colours 

You wore

Was it a blue dress

Or just the white pinafore 

I like how your head 

Slants

Like asking a question

Asserting your own space

Were there trees in the garden

To climb and play

Were there flowers 

You could sniff 

And escape with 

Cherry blossom maybe

It must be summer

When the branches bloom

Just for a while 

I like that you are with me 

Now

I like that we can be

Just us

No cameras

Only words

To explain ourselves 

Perhaps we are alike

Both trapped and free

I reach for her hand

Happy that we have each other

And can hide the past 

With cakes and tea. 

City of Dreams

When they drove me away from 

The city of my dreams

I saw an eagle 

High up in the sky

I will come back I thought

When I am older

When I understand the world 

A little more

When I did go back 

The sun had faded 

The gunshots 

Peppered the horizon 

And I still did not understand 

My feet sank into the snow

Almost the wet cement

Watch out they shouted

But I was miles away

Dreaming 

Always wishing to be

Somewhere else

Now we are stuck

In a small town with hills

Not like the cathedral spires

We came from 

Where the sun set

Like peaches 

And we walked around the walls 

Perhaps we don't dream any more

Not of moving

We are old 

And we understand 

That life will be the same 

In any place

That feels kind of sad

She whispers

But it is true Little Cricket

We are 

Where we are

And that should be enough 

We still look out of windows 

They wash away 

The bad dreams 

And reflect all the good.