First, months

of flash, thud, shudder,

then the wailing...

                            Months,

that's half a young cat's life

Now we're up on the edge

and over, on the mountain

with mountains beyond. Behind us,

            in the dark

of the valley, villages are embers

My Gran was a Caribbean lady
As Caribbean as could be
She came across to visit us
In Shoreham by the sea.

The living room remembers Gran dancing to Count Bessie.
The kitchen can still hear my aunts fighting on Christmas Day.
The hall is worried about the loose banister.

Nobody knows what Jonjo knows. Nobody knows but he,
So Jonjo took me for a walk and showed his world to me.

In our flat
faces speak
of places across the sea.

In our flat
voices walk in
talking, but not like me.

I spied a small lonely boy.
I was his beautiful red balloon,
from morning through to noon,