OVER MY SHOULDER

You may remember her he said.
I was completely blank : yet?
White and emaciated, but beautiful.
I thought I had a brief recollection but it was fleeting.
Surely there had to be some meaning to this.
I thought I had drifted upward somewhat ,
but later they told me I had nearly been lost (died).

These days I hardly think of her.
They gradually trained me not to,
but there are moments when I think she passes over me,
slyly sniggering behind a swan’s hand,
cooing gently like a dove and beckoning me to unthinkable pleasures.

But now as I sit in the dark looking into my garden
the sky is surprisingly full of fireworks, celebrating Divali (sic) or the end of Ramadan or some other local festival.
But suddenly it seems like the sound of small arms warfare and I am transported to a terrifying half world..
How do you do the school run when there are bastards that will shoot you and both your kids as you walk to school? Does the baker still deliver? How does it actually work at the PTA meeting even if your school’s still standing after the imperialist bombers have scooped the earth all around?

Quickly come back in mental retreat. This is home and it’s just fireworks.