Snap

The garden gate is new

and unfamiliar toys

stake claim to the lawn

some new flop-haired child’s tricycle

some other one’s ball

there are people living

in the place now

that I do not know

and although

I once inhabited

the ground they squat upon

knew every inch of hedgerow

I am a stranger now

and the kitchen cupboards

glimpsed through cupped hands

against the glass

are of a new design, soft closing

and where the cutlery drawer once was

it is not now

and where it was not

it now is

I imagine

I stand at the bedroom window

on the upper floor once more

and feel the tense twine that attaches me

to every item in the room

and every tree in the garden

snap