when we finally get the keys to our kingdom
– and it will be no easy thing, my brothers, my sisters,
my friends, no quick and easy thing, this will be a story in itself –
when we finally get the keys to our kingdom
turn them in stiff and rusted locks
tumblers and pins re-learning old lessons
falling into place just as they always did
when we force open the doors
to stale air, the smell of dust, damp, abandonment
fast food flyers faded in heaps on the floor
bleached by the passing of the seasons
when we force open the doors
stand in our space, filling it with noise
rattling nineteen to the dozen
about what we will do with this blank canvas
plans spilling out of our open mouths
like diamonds
when we set to work
with mop and bucket and dustpan and brush
sweeping away mouse droppings, cobwebs
busy with plaster and fresh paint
when we set to work
so the history of this place can breathe again
the smudges of art in the corner of our vision
the joy of sight slipping sharply into focus
dresses that slide on like second satin skin
for past generations
when we throw open the windows
to let the world in
the morning sunshine which fills the first floor room
copper gold on fresh-stripped floorboards
when we throw open the windows
let our music – african, latin, classical, dub,
rock, folk, disco, hard house, techno –
tumble to toe-tapping bus queues outside
where post office shoppers are smiling
when we cloak the building
in scaffolding, splendour it in something
about dancing and revolutions in letters nine feet high
reveal every square inch a colourful mural
when we cloak the building
in honeysuckle, jasmine, mile-a-minute
window boxes of lavender on every sill
clematis that covers the rooftops
create an oasis revealed in the heart of our city
when we fill this place
with laughter, and chat, the din of conversation
over coffee and cake, butter melting on fresh baked bread
soup ladled from the vat which steams on the stove along the wall
when we fill this place
with full bellies – full bellies –
when hunger is no more
when we are sated together
united in hope, love, compassion
when out of darkness comes light
and on the roof garden up from the alley
in the moments after the rain stops
and the planet smells reborn anew
you lie on your back, stare into infinity,
the glory of a clear blue sky
know that out of darkness comes light
that anything is possible
that the miracle of bee-buzz and birdsong
was always there, waiting
when night falls, we will watch for shooting stars
© Steve Pottinger