It’s 4pm on a grey Autumn day when the twinkle in my eye starts to say it’s all them pigeons, I’d bet my pension I swallow a laugh as I pay attention.
On the screen, behind Churchill, they line like members of Parliament at Question time. Gatherin’ round to remember the war, chests puffed out, cooing at tours.
I listen carefully, drinking my tea as the voice in my head narrates the TV. The pigeons, I agree, are patrons of London, but that doesn’t mean they’re the guilty ones.
Um, what about the coded messages, bows and circles as they make their pledges fueds in the vestiges of Westminister - could there be anything more sinister.
I wrap up my work as I contemplate how pigeons have shaped my homelands fate is this payback for Trafalgar Square those years we scattered and chased from there?
Forty one candles among back to school prep Pegasus watched from her deep brown eyes Scrolling through old holiday photographs I would have thought she’d have figured it out by now but deep down white wings beat against the ordinary.
Running to the last chapter her faith was diminished craving the remarkable she held out her book. Opposite end of the stage the old lady took insults striking her walking stick on the cold floor knowingly mouthed, one day you will be me the winches and pulleys started to fault her future breathing, for all to see.
Postcards Wish you were here this faded vintage high street echoes ancestral voices where grandparents used to meet and our story found her feet.
Words etched in practised handwriting a message from a million miles away we haven't heard from you in a long while and wonder if you got caught in the fray.
Postcards Wish you were here this faded vintage high street echoes ancestral voices where grandparents used to meet and our story found her feet.
Are you with your travelling soldier? Are the boys enjoying the continent? Your empty chair has gathered the cats fur and the clock has dragged itself to Advent.
Postcards Wish you were here Sorry it's been so long, I found your last message in my coat.
Giant steps down the hallway to coffee the warm glow of morning sun is dancing across the sage and green hallway runner and there you are, a dark mark on my dream. Waiting in the moment your legs flicker still and calm like a west wind mahjong tile you play dead but your body betrays you dark as the night, the day exposes you. Before, I found the day enchanting Before, I felt like more of who I am Before, I was ready to face the trials Before, I was singing and dancing. I thought my little house was protected my wild garden set back from the doors I thought only my shoes could cross over Until I saw you scurry across my floor. Why couldn't you stay in your oasis? Australian Autumn is warm and humid There are flowers, and veges, and grass You would have been less dead in those spaces. I am displeased with your boldness I am unimpressed by your fearlessness You have filled me with incredible anguish As I stand here studying your rudeness. Dear Mr Cricket, I hope you find heaven maybe in your next life, you won't be trespassing.
Language fashions the pysche I'm finding words and music turn my pain into art every ingredient brings magic like the texture of batter in cupcakes. Clothes exhibit my imagination every necklace and ring has a story weaving colours and patterns through my style like acrylic strokes across a canvas. I know who I am through my ancestry, my archetype and personality I know who I am through my studying it only took me 40 years to get here.
In a little flat in a little town my younger self sat down for a cuppa three generations around a table silence breaks as the chairs meet each other. After a while you leaned in towards me your west end accent whispered carefully "I'm ever so sorry, what is your name?" Your eyes weary, studying me softly. I still remember the vanilla sponge the way the cup and saucer were set out the spoon paused, as you saw my grandmother Guessing correctly, but I saw the doubt. We're twenty five years down this long hard road your namesake 'remembers what's important' sea blue eyes and west end accents mirror as I wait for the day he asks my name.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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