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My childhood, lopsided, crumbs, trouble, clear-sighted and leaning up against the wall. |
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We'd Sellotape the apples back on while they were ripe, sticking to our story every time. |
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We stood there, same mischief, same background, shame-chagrin with hands behind our backs and our eyes faced down. |
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We'd celebrate the victory of buckets and doors, smiling all the way out the front door. |
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How I longed to hold her hand, how I longed to touch her face, how I longed to hear a sound, come from that phone, from far across the town. |
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That night when all went to hell I thought we'd never see the thorns pulled out of our poor old toes. |
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We'd imitate the noises that we thought we should make, shouting at the wind and our mistakes. |
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How I longed to touch her hand, how I longed to see her face, how i longed to hear a sound, come from that voice, from far across the land. |
