2 Poems  

STEPPING INTO

the flat this evening, 
    something strange happened;


the veranda became a veranda,
    the yellow lamp on the wall 


a yellow lamp on the wall,
    the mat on the floor turned red 


instead of its present blue,
    the woman who looked up


from the shelf of potted plants -
    now a shelf of mangled bonsai -


became a woman with subtler lines
    underneath her eyes, speaking,


as she had once spoken,
    'Never forget.' I nodded,


as I had always nodded.
    'I won't.' But that was then.