What Goes Around Comes Around
As a child she remembered climbing on the rubble of what was once terraced houses. Sometimes discovering staircases standing alone, still intact but minus the bannister
A treasure trove of others belongings could still be found in the heap of bricks. Books, sometimes photos with singed edges, a toy, or a tin of buttons.
Looking back, understanding a child’s innocence of the horrors that had barely preceded her, she wondered “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”. A debris of once loved abodes full of life becoming a playground wonderland.
Then rising from the ashes to become concrete and glass, a new way of living for many in incomprehensible heights above a broken city bombed from recognition.
She stared up at a tower block born from that wreckage now decaying from neglect. What goes around, comes around.
Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing All Rights Reserved Mish is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets where we write a piece of flash fiction no longer than 144 words. She has prompted us to include the following quote from the T.S. Eliot poem The Wasteland. “What are the roots that clutch, what branches growout of this stony rubbish?”