When we leave the Garden,
Weeds will tangle with Shrubs.
Branches will stretch across pathways.
The window of the hut will cover with dust
From the nearby building site.
Our sculptures will begin to dislodge
And there will be no one to put them right
And our people, who have met and collected at this spot
For coming on to seven years,
Will be disbanded.

We will go our seperate ways.
Alex, who is the true artist
Amongst us, will sit in a
Chair or throw furniture to the walls of his
Care-home where the
Pattern remains the same.
Kayahan who comes to the
Kids Club won’t jump
On the trampoline and
Gaze into the fire anymore.

We won’t create our own marks,
Simply by walking and stopping
Where we choose:

Placing food for birds,
Getting compost from the cafe next door
Making Tea, washing dishes,
Cracking nuts, catching the sun
Or getting rained on.

We will have no responsibility towards
This place and it will no longer
Hold us.

There will be no “us”.
That time will end.


by Ruth