My grandmother’s old house
On my way to my grandmother’s funeral
I re-discover the old house
When the snow has melted to leave behind frost-coated grass
snowdrops peer through the cracks in the driveway
Each flower delicately curved like a fairy’s skirt
The front yard, where there was once a smooth carpet of blooms
is now a concrete ocean, all jagged and sharp
The tree’s branches droop under the weight of plump damsons
Sitting on my grandmother’s shoulders, I reach towards them
Sticky juice trails down my chin as I savour their sharp tang
Instead of the aroma of damsons dripping with juice
a putrid pang of petrol invades my nose
In the gentle light of summer, forget-me-nots gather in the garden
growing from droplets to ponds of blue amongst the green
while the scent of wisterias waft through the windows
The hills behind the house used to echo with birdsong–
All is silent now