The date sits at the end of a finite line
visible now, one turn of the calendar,
three more changes of plan, at least,
eight thousand emails between
me and a solicitor who works from home.
I get a new jar of Marmite
huge, the usual one but ballooned.
And I think ‘I’ll still have this when we move,
I’ll be eating this Marmite at this table
in our new kitchen,’
with the trees outside
and the rotavated soil of the garden ploughed up like
a life packed into boxes
a glut of lists.
I don’t know how many more
early risings.
Fuel is adrenaline sourced:
instead of sleep, I spread out maps
containing our new house
on the table at 3am,
tracing burns and reservoirs,
forests,
roads with
living beginnings,
and dead ends.
tinylife will be back in September.
Stella Hervey Birrell 