for Tor André
Now, when I remember Amsterdam,
The images bring joy. The homebound tram
Appearing, its number – 17 – alight,
At the Dam’s far end, on a drizzly winter night
When, across the surface, streetlamps shone
And made a seascape of the cobblestone.
And there we stood, the two of us, alone
Together, tired, huddling in the rain,
Yearning for that flat on Bellamyplein.
Mornings, we’d cuddle in bed together, snug,
Or gulp down coffee on that dark brown rug
While Sarah Brightman and John Gielgud (“that
Nice old man”) sang “Gus: The Theater Cat.”
Then we’d head out into the damp Dutch day,
Ever conscious that we couldn’t stay,
That Holland wasn’t home to you or me,
And that these days would soon be memory.
And that was good: we longed to settle down
Together, in a home that was our own,
To sink roots in a land, not live like strays.
Yet how sweet the memory of those rootless days! –
Hovering between one life and another,
Unsettled in everything but in each other.