I watch the moon through the window;
sitting alone is a bad habit of mine.
Too many thoughts and floorboards creaking.
I stare at the white full-moon.
Lamington sky and an empty house beneath
my grandparents house. Built by them
and raised my mother and uncles.
In my memories they still live in there.
Christmas puddings shared along the long supper table,
a glow in the kitchen and living room.
Grandchildren laughing and running through rooms,
Parents talking in knitted jumpers, sipping brandy and wine.
A creak in the floorboard interrupts,
the house fades to black.
Black to staring at
the white full-moon.