Migrant

I left without a second thought

it was time to go, eighteen and in love

the ties snapped easily, no backward glances

no goodbyes, handshakes, kisses

we didn’t do things like that then.

“Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

your old road is rapidly aging”.

Near fifty years on

I’ve returned discreetly, stealthily, unrecognised

treading on familiar places, an archaeologist

in search of young faces from the past

I know I will not find.

“The changing of sunlight to moonlight, reflections of my life

oh how they fill my eyes”.

But I must still walk these ancient lanes

search out the indelible aromas

of my childhood, that have lingered, trapped

within the mortared walls, the bark of trees

at verges, in gutters, down drains.

“Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind”

Latent life forces have drawn me back

to demand this duel, unfinished business,

paraffin, fresh bread, newsprint, coal sacks

chip paper, leather, cobwebs, Brylcreem,

corned beef, bleach, Double Diamond.

“Dance trees and a winter bird, fly home, we're here again, here again”.

I must be wary of becoming inebriated, light-headed

as curious locals cast worried glances,

a stranger! here? lost! hurry without checking their stride,

they see a splinter festering that will soon be gone

not knowing I will be compelled to return.

“And if a time comes when I'm feeling better I'll be back like the birds in the Spring”.

© Graham Sherwood 02/2017

(lyrics credited to Bob Dylan, The Hollies, Donovan, Blue Aeroplanes Kate and Anna McGarrigle)