Dawn. The only time of day, I get to lift
My arms above my head,
Like a ballet dancer in fifth position.
I’m pegging tea towels on the line.
I can see the world through thin cotton:
A tartan Sky Tower, then a flowery one
Then Welsh recipes, aboriginal art, fluffy kittens.
My tea towels tell of places friends have visited –
We are having a great time
Wish you were here.
They are my flags, sending messages
To the world I know to be out there.
‘I require a pilot’.
‘I wish to communicate with you.’
They are my party banners, my streamers
In the wind, my prayer flags.
They are my windsocks too, for use by
A rescue plane which will never land,
Much less a roc who will never flap down
And fly me away, astride his feather back
To spend nights in Arabia, where there are few tea towels,
And no one is up at dawn.