this was veeeeeeeeeery releasing to write. but see what you think. and tell me Smoke rising My father is sitting talking To my grandfather on the telephone through their grey or greying moustaches they discuss my grandmother who is ill half way around the world. time differences and politics shroud me from them and them from me, their granddaughter. I said hello But I’m lost for words (The smoke reminds me of when I was little) (and used to collect flowers) (Now I am big) My grandmother She is still ill. I watch the smoke rise, From the mouth through the moustache of my sitting talking father I imagine that it will eventually Join the clouds in the sky Half way around the world.