Strands of hair were longer and turning grey at the roots

and the windscreen at the front of my head was misty again

the smell of coffee lingers inside the walls

in the wind I smell French lavender

& I remember the photo of my great-grandmother

she was wearing a white apron over an orange patterned dress

with a cardigan that looked like it was grim against the skin

line & diamonds on her hands and face a kaleidoscope of age -

she was covered in the rain of being human.

I hear a woman say she has two pigeons in her kitchen

and I hope they are happy –

I hope one can open the jam jar without asking the other

and they build a home of ten plants –

the bonsai growing the tallest legs

broken crockery spread around like spiderwebs

their shards ringing like a tuning fork.