You Are Here/ Imaginary Homes

Turn right, after sunrise.
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When I was a child I remember the blue walls
And all the faces that stared at me through glass
Whiskers, whispers, bubbles sent out to me in secret
I tapped the walls and there it was
That fish glancing to look at me.

You are here.

I liked getting pushed on swings
Until I realized no one could push me as hard as I wanted to rise
Seven year old rising into the sky
Seven year old wrapping leaves to make wounds run dry.

You are here.

This is how the sky shifts, pushing the clouds
Alongside
This is all you'll know of the sky- the patch from the window
This the story, and this is the pen,
You will always remain the child
Who danced in candlelight
And whose mother will never forget it
You are here

You will always know the almost-version of things
And push memory to move along, like a sullen pet
You are here

Memory is always a play involving Ghosts,
So that is how we were taught to understand fear.

You are
Nine, cycling in summer, with sunlight colouring you
And seeping into your laughter.
You know no other way.
You are
Eight, in a pink skirt and parka
Bending your head into a photograph,
You do not know it is the last for a few years.
You are
Seven and ill and playing Cinderella's evil stepmother
You remember how she was illustrated
And that that is how you were taught what 'ugly' means.
You are
Turning nineteen and you're dealing with being nine, eight, seven inside.
You are here.

When the room turned airy from sunlight and the air carried sunlight away
You are here
When the lights went out and you learned how to make crying lose voice
You are here
When you look into the mirror and lose sense of your fingers
You are here.

At some point you'll stop avoiding confronting the empty lot
Which has headless dolls, and scripts for the extras,
And you'll be able to build that castle you've been avoiding
And I hope it'll be tall enough to feel the air.

You are here
And you know imaginary homes need to breathe.