The places I've lived

Live inside me

Like so many Russian dolls.

Their different faces

Appear, with a certain scent,

A particular quality of light

And air.

The smell of freshly cut grass

Brings England out to greet me.

Tennis on a hot afternoon;

Cold beer beside a canal;

School uniforms; the BBC news;

Christmas carols with the smell of

Hot cloves.

Crashing waves on a wintry beach

And Cape Town grabs my hand.

The smell of ozone on damp air;

A certain vibe, somewhere

Between vintage and cool;

Sundowners on the stoop, and

I'm there.

Fresh fish roasting on open coals,

Mozambique makes an appearance.

A drumbeat heard outdoors;

The smell of candle wax

Or kerosene; bumping over a pothole;

Sleeping under a mosquito net; still

Getting bitten.

All these places are inside me.

Not part of history but

Part of my soul.

Time is not a straight line of

Consecutive events

So much as a kaleidoscope,

Concertinaed within.

And I am all these places,

They never leave me, you see.

They exist outside of time

And, in a moment, I am there again.

This time travel pulls on my heart,

Dragging me through space and back again

And leaves me here.