I remember my yiayia's old house
The white fence and the small front yard
The steps that seemed to be three quarters the height of regular steps
The hand rail next to them
The touch of the rubber doorbell button
And hearing it play from the front door
I would enter a dark corridor
Passing the main bedroom first
I never went in there
But I think Mum would sleep over occasionally
The sitting room next
With the blinds always drawn
The record player lying silent
Where my cousins and I played games occasionally
But never monopoly
Not in this house
Not anymore
It opened up to the sitting room
Which was filled only when we had big family events
So, semi-regularly
The walls in the rooms were decorated with photos
Of all the cousins
And all the uncles and aunties at their weddings
Five wedding portrait photos lay side by side on the walls in this house
Collect the set
A specific vintage
Vaseline on the camera lenses
Surely, maybe, it was the 80s, mostly
Further along the corridor was the bedroom we used to stay in
With the taekwondo sticker on the old wardrobe
and the first glimmers of natural light seeping through the windows
We pass the main bathroom
Retrofitted for old age
White and silver
Handrails and rubber mats
Finally we're through to the main space
The new space
With a fresh crack down the brickwork wall
Shining on the table we eat our chicken pasta on
Mizithra covered pasta
Covered with red sauce and chicken on the bone
On top of a plastic table cloth
Across from the kitchen where it is made
The fridge is new
The photos it is decorated with are old
Babies
Children
They are adults now
Fridge magnets from long forgotten holidays
No one can even remember who brought them home
In the opposite corner of the kitchen
Icons of another kind
And a light which always burns
The bar counter is never used for alcohol
It is perpetually holding food
A smorgasbord for family lunches
Or leftovers tempting visitors
Or gifted sweets left by visitors
The living room has a couch and a TV in the corner
Which after many years of struggle eventually played Greek TV
And most of the local channel
The annexed laundry and bathroom always had foot traffic
And a smell
Fresh
Clean
Plaster
The lock on the toilet didn't always work the best
And you had to wash your hands in the tiny basin
Your hands almost didn’t fit inside
But the water pressure was strong
And usually founds its way onto your clothes
Before you walked back into the living room
Which opened out to the back yard
The high wooden deck was fitted out with roller blinds
A small round table
With a table cloth
Covered in plastic
Surrounded by chairs from the old house
Where you could sit and look at the bird cage
Where Cocky would eat carrots
Climb up and down the cage door
Sometimes sing
Sometimes screech
Maria Maria
Cocky want a cracker?
He was at least fifty years old
He outlived his keepers
And he grieved when they left
But he'll always be remembered for the joy he brought
He'll always be the first thing I remember about walking out into the back yard
And whenever I smell thai food
And old cooking oil
Which engulfed him at the old house
This new house had was greener
Fresher
It has a backyard with a once lovingly tended garden
Beautiful big fruit trees along the back fence
A shed that held extra chairs for family events
And where Pappou made orange loukanika
These features were all ornamental to us as kids
We were unwilling to disrupt their order
Unwilling to harm the work of Yiayia and Pappou
This was their space
Our space ran along the side of the house
The concrete driiveway
Perfect for cricket
And down ball
And wall ball
We'd play in the sun
Unsure of how the games started
Or when they would end
But one day they did
And I never played in that house again
—
Busy people value quiet
Idle people value business
Both can be tired
Both value rest
—
When I read poetry I tend to write more
When I spend time with my family I tend to speak Greek more
When I go to the Cretan club I tend to dance more
I don't know what happens after I spend some time on Facebook
But it's probably not good.
—
He sits there watching
Listening and absorbing
Each word each idea
—
The world spins at a thousand miles an hour
But we still find time to be still and rest
We close our eyes knowing it won't throw us off
—
She sits in the dead centre
The men either side of her turn to face her
And nod as she speaks
—
A line of restaurants
Stacked neatly along the street
Held in place
By two bookshops at each end
—
I know they have no work to do
But they sit there
Watching their screens
After normal work hours
Knowing that others are watching them
Like office stooges in North Korea
—
I grabbed my bagel from the nice new place
A place keen to become part of the neighbourhood
It's branding evokes a familiar name
It's pastel colour pallet is calm and non-offensive
It's interior is clean and simple
But the care fades quickly
The familiar name will never set foot here
The pastel fixtures have chipped and split
The interior is filling with practicalities
The sky is falling
In the form of a leaky ceiling
But the bagels are nice
All the stuff that mattered in the start
Never really mattered
But all the stuff that mattered
Will stick around until the end
—
Realisation of an idea isn't simply knowing it
It is bringing it to life
—
When I finally needed to buy something
from International Cakes
It was gone
ehhere 
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