This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Peter Rawlings Four Poems
At the Funeral

When I said where in Bradford I had lived
all those years ago
she told me she went to school
just there, just over the hill, through the copse,
that Clifton Villas was as well known to her
as her school or her home and street,
and repeated the name Clifton Villas
twice, incredulous.

She pulled from the gullet
of her memory the site,
its scatter of houses, plane trees,
sycamores, seclusion.
But when? she asked.

Our years overlapped,
a pincer movement of our histories,
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