Last Time I Was Here

Last time I was here, I was maybe eleven

but I’d lived here since I was very small.

The lawn stretched, vast, down the back

to the summerhouse and a stand of bamboo,

and there were two willows.

In the front were roses my Dad planted.

I felt as if I was living in Heaven.

In bed at night I could hear the bell

chiming from the Town Hall clock

across the still air. It does now, too.

I hug the motel pillows,

and remember listening with my Dad.

Sometimes we’d hear it striking seven:

he sat up till morning if I wasn’t well,

telling me stories — not from a book

but his own inventions. (He did read to me too.)

Then he would breakfast, get into his clothes

and go to work sleepless — what a Dad!

Last time I was here, I was not alone.

Fairies were my friends. I only had to call

and they would surround me. I knew where to look

and how to look. No-one taught me; I just knew.

There was one in each willow and every rose.
‘You’ve got such imagination!’ my Mum said.

November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge from Poetic Asides: Last time I was here

(The form is rimas dissolutas — not part of the PA prompt; I wanted to try it after reading Diane Lockward's latest Poetry Newsletter, so I combined the two prompts.)