Neighbourhood watch

The small girl
Standing at the door
Watching through the bars of the closed gate
Sees her image, give or take thirty years
Pass along the street.

The woman
Looking up
Catches the tail end of the glance
Feels it rather than sees it –
The clarity of a recognition
She can barely fathom.

The green of the trees
Between them
would swallow her whole.
She clings on to the small nearness
Of a stamen dangling
From its red-belled flower
As if it were a lifeline.

The hard creaminess of the lily curve
Holds the vast space of her awareness
Like a lip, like a cup.


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