by JEANNIE HAUGHTON
Night walk to the cloisters, constellations
of dark women, hips swaying to the rhythm of carry bags
the evening meal or tomorrow’s lunch
no car boots filled with a week’s supplies
no click and collect around here
and alien, utterly alien, the sounds the words
from the blackest faces and whitest teeth
I’ve ever seen windows with steel grids,
different languages on shop signs the smells evocative
yet obscure to one at ease with the stink of silage
dawdling amongst the busy-ness curious
way beyond don’t stare etiquette
an exchange of smiles
ambling on to the stone walls
their denseness their keeping-outness contrasting
with the comers and goers pouring through the gates
inside, the convent’s otherness is nectar to bees
friends buzzing at end of the day, seekers and butterflies
free-range types, if you had to say, at one with the spirit of the place
choir notes frizzing the air above the skinny ones who sip water into wine
and conformity in the razor-edged locks and body art
of look-at-me youth in rainbow leggings the matrons
stroll the garden paths twitchy ones, odd-man-outs hovering
a beat behind the laughter that hunger to belong
an exchange of smiles
retracing my steps through the watchful dark streets
I am thinking of the uncluttered spaces and horizon blues
of the place where I breathe easiest