Monday, 23 June 2014

London - 2 - My parents' bed

On reflection the most significant event of this trip to London was falling asleep.

After a day of taxi conversations,
reading poetry collections at the Poetry Library,
enjoying the pinky metal handrails and spaciousness of the Royal Festival Hall,
being splashed by the fine spray from a fountain, 
squeezing into the tiniest bookshop ever in the Brunei Gallery by SOAS, 
having more conversations in there, 
being approached by a strange man in front of some photographs who turned out to be my brother, 
walking past the Oasis pool which was on my way home from school,
taking part in the demo in Parliament Square,
trying to whoosh through the Tate as a short cut to home...

I curled up on the sofa under all the pictures I like in the drawing room,
shut my eyes and dozed,
then moved to my mother's side of my parents' bed when guests came for dinner,
and really fell asleep there for several hours.

It's a privilege beyond anything to just be there and sleep.
It may never happen again.
No one was asking me questions.
I wasn't arguing and trying to explain.
No one was preaching at me.
No possible disagreements.
Wordless something.

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