A birthday poem for Veronica Aldous
I built my home with old clocks
Even when they stopped chiming.
Paint stains preferred to pristine walls
And filled the rooms with the oven’s breath
And the sound of silences singing.
I made my home a feather quilt,
A place to hide from mortgages,
I collected friends like rag dolls and books
Whose pages knew my fingers.
I have a home called memory
Whose rooms are uncountable.
When you visit, leave me a smile
To store in one of my secret cupboards.