She remembers when these streets were fields
stretching as far as her eyes could see
down to the beach.
Now she hangs her washing on a sad patch of grass
where once she lay in meadow flowers,
watching birds fly past.
She watches her sons play football on a concrete road
laid on the fields where her brothers played ball
when they were young.
She knows that bulldozers have now returned
to dig up the small field behind the school
and make another street.
But if she half closes her eyes and sits without moving
she can still hear the birds and grasshoppers
alive in the ghostly fields.
Streets for Poetry Thursday