keys again

I knock and wait patiently

it is very quiet

maybe no-one is home

no doors bang

no footsteps approach

no rustling of movement behind the door

then

just the tiniest of scratchings as someone strives repeatedly to put a key in the lock

out of body experience

a forlorn and disgruntled postlady stands on the street corner

seriously contemplating alternative careers,

but resigns herself to the job in hand,

consults the map, mutters expletives

and sets off down an unexplored road.

dried banana

I can't persuade her to say 'banana' but

she pops both pieces swiftly into her mouth

and with a winning smile

holds out both hands for two more

dog

the frantic scrabble of claws on the tarmac path

gives me a split second warning of it's approach

flying caterpillars

beneath a single tree

drifting in the gentle breeze

dozens of tiny tiny caterpillars

dangle from invisible threads.

are they practicing ready for when they get their wings?

through the bedroom window

sounds drift in:

at night, sirens and fireworks

this evening, children playing

and the neighbours chatting and laughing with friends

wrong key

in the space of three seconds:

a dread sick feeling engulfed me as I wiggled the key in the lock

and it didn't open,

my brain ran through all the possible eventualities,

and then the wash of relief followed when I realised

it was the wrong key.

Cortege

two beautiful white horses

with white feather plumes

pull a white hearse.

for just a moment I expected to see Snow White in her glass casket,

instead there is a simple wicker coffin.

three limousines follow.

lemon meringue pie

tart and sweet

crisp and soft

warm and delicious

all gone

mended puncture

the distant approach of a peculiar man

wheeling two bicycles

lifts my damp and weary spirits

snails

we step out into the evening rain

and have to tiptoe around dozens of tiny yellow snails

scattered across the pavement like fallen leaves

the sea

I look up from my book to find the sea outside the train window

nondescript dull grey apart from the tiny sparkles

where the sunshine breaks through the thick cloud cover

at mum and dad's

morning tea
weak and sweet
in a blue and white willow patterned
cup and saucer

travelling home

apart from two bedraggled and unpruned rose bushes

the long neglected platform is more like a summer meadow

scattered with long grasses and tiny red and yellow wildflowers

slug

a huge brown slug stretches his head up

mottled skin glistening

its tentacles protruding

searching the air

it is faintly disgusting

and yet

curiously

elegant

cat

siamese, beautiful, delicate cream with black tips

incongruous in the scruffy garden

nuzzles around my ankles

and stretches languorously at my feet

daughter again

giggling over purchases

and sharing chocolate

she still lets me link arms

as we walk along

thunder

thunder reverberates across the sky

threatening

but keeping its distance

until the sudden cloudburst

catches me unawares

headache

skulking in the background,

ominously,

lurking behind my eyes,

stealing in,

niggling,

then nagging,

persistent,

ensconced,

settling in for the duration.

a hot day

cool water, trickling

down my neck

and down my throat

Rosary

the small gathering of people pray futilely

across the road from the Marie Stopes clinic

I bite my tongue and refuse the proffered rosary

without a polite smile

afternoon nap

I open my eyes to

soft warm light

soft warm skin

soft warm kiss