Steppin on the beach of nana’s shed floor
was like reaching land just off the lawn.
behind unkempt borders edged a
ribbon of flowers as a flush of memories
drifted.

A muffled whisper washed sepia toned moods,
twisted broken things seemed to talk
dummy like quitely in their boxes, rejected by
flighty owners now themselves discarded.

On the windowsill a porcelain cup caught
my eye – watermark of grime told me
where tea once floated. Nana leant
over in crisp white linen while old
China rested on the ledge.  

Lost without its handle useless article –
banished from the cabinet. Where a
scrolled  handle sprung there was
now a clean break, tossed up here
relieved yet wrecked.

A lifetime ago tea was served for
the up and coming set nana with
fixed ideas of dainty cakes swept
away drips on my face.