In my last year of school
we made a shift to higher ground.

Our family was the two of us,
we chose a house on the port hills.

In the company of fruit trees
and a kitchen of polished wood

we became reacquainted.
First my mother changed

the direction of the staircase,
hammered it into shape

and carpeted it smooth,
then she painted each room

lavender blossom, garnet symphony,
peppermint beach and buttercup fool.

Winter was dinner on our laps
sitting close by the fire

summer was breakfast under the plum tree
as it grew shady with leaves.

When she drove me down
to start university

she came back to a full crop
of dark omega plums

and moved the living room
to the front of the house.

© Saradha Koirala from Wit of the staircase (Steele Roberts, 2009)