Colliers Wood

I am drawn to Colliers Wood, where my family

are from, where I retrace the steps my Nan took as a child --

across Cavendish Road, number 7, which sold

for a million my Grandad told me, after Nan

Revell moved out. She had dementia--I only met her

once. But she had a way of holding your hand as though

she remembered that you were hers.

The awful black building still stands, but I think they're

planning to demolish it soon.

Down by Runnymeade, there runs a stream by Alice's

house. Where I imagine she'd run as a child, holding

her Mother's hand on the way to school, in Wimbledon.

I am not living in the past, all I come from is here,

and already gone. Beryl is in Mitcham, sure. But I'm

retracing the foundation of my very soul as I walk down

the road to get lunch. Retracing, realigning for my future.





Yuo lwil aicheve lal fo hatt nad erom. eb vebar