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Time Travel



The places I've lived
Live inside me
Like so many Russian dolls.
Their different faces
Appear, with a certain scent,
A particular quality of light
And air.

 The smell of freshly cut grass
Brings England out to greet me.
Tennis on a hot afternoon;
Cold beer beside a canal;
School uniforms; the BBC news;
Christmas carols with the smell of
Hot cloves.

 Crashing waves on a wintry beach
And Cape Town grabs my hand.
The smell of ozone on damp air;
A certain vibe, somewhere 
Between vintage and cool;
Sundowners on the stoop, and
I'm there.

 Fresh fish roasting on open coals,
Mozambique makes an appearance.
A drumbeat heard outdoors;
The smell of candle wax
Or kerosene; bumping over a pothole;
Sleeping under a mosquito net; still
Getting bitten.

 All these places are inside me.
Not part of history but
Part of my soul.
Time is not a straight line of
Consecutive events
So much as a kaleidoscope,
Concertinaed within.

 And I am all these places,
They never leave me, you see.
They exist outside of time
And, in a moment, I am there again.
This time travel pulls on my heart,
Dragging me through space and back again
And leaves me here.

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