rediscovered
in my
grandparents’ loft
rusted
canisters
of cine film
we go over
for dinner
and to watch
old selves
in celluloid
me
my brother
my mother
and father
uncle
and partner
grandparents
curtains drawn
lights dimmed
the
projector
beams
a fine
blade
of light
into
the room
an image
of a garden
forms
flowerbeds
pink
with roses
then unfamiliar
faces
long-gone
aunts
and
uncles
great
grand
parents
resurrected
in Sixties
suburban
utopia
Brasso-faces
in suits
and skirts
nursing
cup and saucer
Potteries
china
reserved
for best
horn-rimmed
and ruddy
a young woman
laughs
and shakes
russet tresses
a tall man
pomaded
in shirt
and slacks
pings
with
rubber band
a glider
skyward
for two
small
brown-haired
children
a girl
in summer
frock
a boy
in short
trousers
run in circles
on the lawn
the plane falls
and is caught
by the roses
it is summer
high summer
flaming
june
my mother’s
birthday
the penny
drops
a jump cut
we are
next to
a field
my mother
throws
breadcrumbs
to a horse
at grass
a brown mare
just out
of shot
her foal
my mother
turns
a breeze
brushes
a strand
of her hair
she asks for
something
her small
mouth
pleading
can we have
more bread?
my mother says
from her spot
on the floor
in the film
someone
hands her
more
but when
she turns
the mare
bolts
and runs
across
the
paddock
with
her foal
the first
and last
and only
time
I saw
my mother
as a child