Lew Watts

The Green Green Grass of Home

It’s been almost forty years, but I have to know – does the same bath hang on the kitchen wall, is the toilet still outside at the rear?

There’s a familiar waft of stale smoke as the door opens. She’s probably in her thirties, but with the paisley dress, the curlers, and the worn slippers, she looks much older. For a moment I think it’s my Mam without the psoriasis, and as the door slams shut I wait for the words “Not today, ta,” but there is only silence.

downwind
from the old steelworks
still no birds