I miss colours most, so pictures help
and sound recordings, until the batteries run out:
I’d want them to know that there used to be more
than one plus one plus one.
Cards to entertain and teach
counting, song lyrics to remember words
life is simpler now, the small pleasures measured out
savoured the same as those hard candies Grandma carried.
Ever since the cloud came down
like the quilt she used to throw over us,
sometimes it feels like camping, just keeping our feet dry
and keeping hold of things so we won’t forget.
We talk more, now
to remind ourselves there were once small birds
and giant whales that sang, foxes
screeching in the garden.
And we play back these things, too:
a dark green wave crashing under a yellow sun,
kettle steam, storm-watching
from the window of her room
Maybe things won’t change. I’d still want them to know
about the clink of a clean spoon, laughter at the pub,
the angle of music playing on a street corner,
the sound of your keys in the door.