It’s summertime in Trafalgar Square;
we’ve stopped to feed the pigeons there:
It must be early on in the World Cup
because my young son sports an England top
still holding out a hope
(We went out in the first round that year.)
Still it’s summertime 20 years earlier
Trafalgar Square is there, as ever
I’m sporting an injury – black eye from
downhill biking without breaks.
My mother’s not been dead two years:
unhealed wounds walk with me.
Fast forward to when wintertime
has made it to Trafalgar Square
my sister’s not been dead two weeks
and I’m trying to negotiate the
Christmas shopping crowds as
iced winds rip right through me.
© Experimentsinfiction 2020, All Rights Reserved
I actually wrote this poem a while back for dVerse ‘Three little words’, where the words ‘future’ ‘human’ and ‘foster’ took me to Trafalgar Square using the what3words website. As this was not one of the specified locations for the prompt, I kept it back. I’m posting it today to commemorate five years since my sister died.
R.I.P. Alison, 02.06.72 – 03.12.15.