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Intransient

My upside down, topsy tervy days,
the inside out and a left foot first.
We called them Tweedle Dee
and Tweedle Dum, ancient cousins
and so like the illustrations.
These are the etched days
in Uncle Georges work of horses
and a battlefield somewhere.

The harsh lessons and a sofa
in a Belgravia flat, the errant daughter
where London water is made
of several times recycled pee
so not to drink and a free turkey
that went backside in.

Paris in the winter, a journey
on car seats that made me sick,
the time I tried to make chicken
not realising that it needs cooking first.

Remembering the pain of it all
the arguments, the day I died
the day I cried and you cried.
Memories of hoops and wheelbarrows
the puzzle days on wet winter nights,
the times I ran away, and came back.

Intransient you, Intransient me
more alike than we knew

Poetry by Elle