there is an elephant
in one of the rooms inside my head.
it’s big, with old, gentle eyes
and ears that flap like flags
in the wind; and clean, sharp tusks
that belie its calm demeanour.
the mahout displays him proudly
decorated in burgundy and gold,
ready for me to sit on him and
ride the world; and the flow of
memory and time slows down.
i know, i know, i said
i have separate rooms in my mind;
time and memory are separate
parallel flows in each of them.
but have you seen the elephant?
so, the other rooms gather
cobwebs on their windows and when
memory tries to look out, its
hands are covered in soot,
the dust from the curtains leaving it
wistful and grey; and time
sits in the center of the wooden floor,
contracting into itself, waiting
for the elephant to move.