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A poem/musing in memory of my mother, Maureen. I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds They flew into the air before me as I walked And there you were again present in this moment and made real Yet I cannot reach out
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There’s a man in my neighbourhood who is trying to befriend the crows. At least, I assume that is what he is doing.
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I can’t remember exactly when hollyhocks began to bloom across Amsterdam. It feels as if, one summer, they were suddenly just there, reaching up through the paving stones and covering gable ends with wild abandon.
