Rowan Lees. Hexham
P h o t o g r a p h y & p o e t r y
The Alley by Hextol Terrace
Easy to talk about times
and places.
Harder to put a finger on how I felt there,
then, in the midst of a fresh romance, ripe
as the plums which drop at the end of the alley
in August - trodden under foot.
I run along walls, watch
the telegraph wires make frames for cloud,
azure blue and moon.
ā
This was my way to school, and my way home.
It saw me when I could barely lift an
eyelid.
Late, and weighed down by the day before.
Now I see it. Trusting what I see; how I see it.
Believing that beauty is no more here
than elsewhere, and yet here it is, anyway.
ā
Where I sprinted downhill to see my friends at the pub;
made bike ramps of wood panels;
listened to the older boys on the street, talking
about girls.
Where I dreamt of, and didn't the road seem wider in that dream? Here,
where I stumbled up home, singing,
hoping an open window might hear.
IG: rowanlees
