Awakening

First memories
slippery as slugs
tiptoeing like vague
silhouettes of shadows
a tortoiseshell cat as big as me
under the woollen table cloth’s
shade
lino... cold and worn
and coloured blocks
on a tin truck
the box above the
open hearth that sang
and somehow
a depth of sadness
came from it too and
everyone sat silent as the word
Hiroshima seeped into my
undeveloped brain