MY
LIFE
The front window view was of
‘Jack’s Bank’ but I was wrong thinking everyplace had one. Eventually they
removed all the slag heaps anyway, shame that, they were great for climbing up
and sliding down. Long plaits swing when you move your head quickly. Men in
working overalls trudged up the hill every evening looking identical, heads
down, steam rising from tired breaths. I wondered about the insides, past the
lit open doorways. Wondering brings its own comfort. It would have been noble
if I’d been a painter. Love for the written word prevails still. Talking as we
walked through the dark, my hand in hers, looking up at stars who saw it all
and I did all the talking. Greetings and glances, keeping time in pavement
dances. Accidental rhymes dilute obscurity. The old boiler in the corner of the
classroom inspired a dissertation for Marina. Women collect around garden gates
sharing secrets in important whispers fusing two tongues. New shoes have their
own delightful smell. Crisps with salt in blue paper and glass bottled pop
waiting in the car at night outside the pub. That May Day was like every other
so no one foresaw a heartbreak while the ribbons were floating around. It’s
important that uncurly hair is cut evenly; it can’t be pulled into line. The
gates were rarely open so you had to crouch and if they happened to be in the
gardens and saw you, they said good morning nicely, with a gentle smile. Sour
milk isn’t drinkable. It takes a while for hope to fade. London is another
world. Noise is deafening. Life speeds up in different places but slows down in
others. People become transformed on a bus, no touching, no staring. Keeping
lives hidden. Such an important river, a demarcation that discriminated. Still
only a river, doing what rivers do. Permission for ear piercing granted at a
place by Putney Bridge. If you don’t turn the sleepers they go septic. Parks
are different from countryside, a kind of counterfeit imitation, but flowers
grow in many soils. Corn on the cob only works with butter and only then if it
drips on your chin. Who knew the world held so many clever people. The payslip
details in tiny print kept deductions until near the bottom creating
disappointments. A bedsit was the epitome of luxury, old furniture dressed up
and shiny gadgets from gift wrappings that came with the gold rings. He hated
gravy, it’s easy to forget and pour it on. Excitement in a temporary heaven.
For a long time there was no ground-floor living, I found it easy to no longer see strangers on the stairs. Funny how life goes, it encircles us just like
a merry go round. Pain like no other, but then a pink bundle; a final discovery
of love. Life by the clock, over and over. I lost track of the other me,
repeatedly. The mother thing isn’t easy, however hard you try. Dear God I tried. Foreign travel
should be compulsory for all; sanctioned indelible memories to sear the
conscience. Australia’s smell is different; it’s the flora and fauna, stars in
another alignment in that hemisphere, but no one to hold your hand. The land of
the big sky I called it and old Tom in the garage said I was right. I ached to
hold my babies. Mistakes are so easy to make, even in knitting. The first
morning in a new home brings its own pleasures when the boxes are somehow
forgiven. I felt my admiration going out to those who put down roots and stay.
A small boy in white socks looks up at me with trust in his eyes as we walk to
school. Musical instruments are not a solution for sibling rivalry, I wish I’d
known. There was nothing for it but to carry on. In the end religion is exposed
and can be distinguished from a love for God. Battered wives worry about the
neighbours hearing. Assistance can be found in sedation, but it’s not a good
idea long term. Some gaps are too painful to fill in without feathers. The
birds do sing in the mornings, their songs have relevance, wonderful lyrical
communications. I recalled it, just in time. It’s important to know that life
is for living. It’s as if wisdom has a price list in years. There is no time to
go back. Salford is unexpectedly an especially warm place. He’s a different man
with much to say and crinkly eyes full of old words like ‘cherish’ and ‘keep’.
I remembered how to laugh. It bubbles up from inside and breaks out, like an
escaping prisoner. Moving on is a tricky concept. 
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