Super 8
I gain no admittance here
even though I remember the colour
of each blanket in the bedrooms
the parlour filled with uncertain light
blinking turns the sun off and on.
I want to run down the stairs
to the kitchen and out into the garden
feeling the naked step over carpet, lino
wood and grass, to be received;
a welcome visitor to the summerhouse.
The creamy purring corner
of tea and animals and fading traycloths
I want to talk to those tired and snoozing
holograms who know the family tongue,
the meaningful interstices, the vowels
a metaphor for love,.Dare I mention, love
again, and once more love-
I want to run the old film one more time-
Its final title bleaching on the minds eye
Oh we are a broken clan.
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