Sarah St Vincent Welch #217 an imagined house (inspired by AC's ideal house)

she repaired her sons’ boat

on the kitchen table

I smell the sea salt in wood

paint

grandma’s kitchen

never met her

my soft and worried face

is hers, watching me from the mirror

milk delivered to a tin by the window

twice a day, I like the sound of that

I imagine the walls pale green

the curtains shift

I hear

the Rabbitoh scuffing down the lane

calling his name

carcasses strung on his arms

wanderers paused at her gate

soldiers played cricket

in the street, with her kids