On my forty eighth

i sat/a small dot dignified woman in a crowded East Dulwich coffee shop open books/empty cups/laptops on the wooden tables an hour or less i street gazed my darling’s image hangs inside the passing crowd my happiness was so untouchable staring at the fallen Sycamore lush leaf all the children here live in posh houses making love from his arms/ i gave my soul when skin touched skin oh bitter sweetness how can cities be content? i should pray, sing, dance and i am weeping one baby in his buggy cries/ and destroys my thoughts! Günsel Djemal 7/3/2009 Dulwich-London