Peter Lewin
Flakes
Spent most of my life taking you and time for granted.
Now, many years after, I watch the snow falling
from my window, endless thick flakes: our street a stretch
of white silence and lamplight.
I catch a memory, see you walking through snow.
Elvis Presley’s first Christmas album on the turntable,
and there’s you in your late 40s coming towards me.
Your ankles swollen from too many hours at work.
But now you’re standing in the hall, snowflakes melting
on your coat, and Gem our labrador goes crazy with welcome,
her heavy tail thumping doors or anything that’s in the way.
You put the kettle on till it whistles,
make some tea and bacon butties; bank up the fire.
Page(s) 57
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