strangely, I never thought of my grandmother’s
as the place where my mother was
once a young girl

once, aged two, I tried to escape
my father and mother, see my gran
pedal in my little red car
all the way to her house
not such
a good idea
was found out

later I would spend much time there
my younger sister sitting quietly
under the dining room table
whilst I would sketch vistas
of war, scenes of massive battle
(no way of knowing which
side would win
that war, every encounter
so bloody, so pyrrhic

my grandmother thought I would be a draughtsman
could draw beautifully and precisely
to meet the high technical standard
attained by my father

somehow straight lines were
just not me

not much of the house do I remember
except the clock getting closer and closer
to the time to go home
my mother straight…