This poem is part of a window display at the Cardiff branch of department store John Lewis. In the midst of our color-blazing, air-chilling autumn, when I am planning holidays and finding my sweaters, this really hit home. Pun intended.
Home by Gillian Clarke
Evening, home after hours away,
I catch my room out, dreaming,
in a doze at the end of the day,
surprised by blue dusk at the window,
white cups and dishes gleaming,
my chair, my rug, electricity’s glow.
This room and I want music, lamplight,
a good book, fresh tea steaming.
Across the evening city home is waking,
in semis, terraced streets, estates,
in quiet suburbs, silence breaking
with TV, kettles, radio,
as one by one the windows light
till every tower-block’s an Advent calendar,
countdown to winter and the longest night.