The carpet ran
through the hallway and
up the stairs.
There was so much in it,
I remember thinking;
that if the person who had made it
had tried to squeeze another shape inside
it would burst.
It contained all of the colours that I knew how to name
and it swirled
like a kaleidoscope
as we did handstands in the hall.
There was that trick
you showed us how
if you  didn't make a sound and
stood right there on the bottom step,
faces would rise to the surface
and wink or grin.
Like the fat fish in your pond outside
where we dropped
bread like wishing-coins.
And they moved so much
the water was boiling.
Sometimes the circles were stepping stones and
we would jump
from blue to green
so not to burn our feet on all that red.
But one day you weren't there anymore,
and two men came and tore it up
from the floor and laughed
about somewhere called the seventies.
And as I watched through a film of tears
I couldn't understand why
they didn't burn their hands on all that red.