My childhood, lopsided, crumbs, trouble, clear-sighted and leaning upagainst the Sellotape the apples back on while they were ripe, sticking toour story every time.We stood there, same mischief, same background, shame-chagrin with handsbehind our backs and our eyes faced down. We'd celebrate the victory ofbuckets and doors, smiling all the way out the front door.How I longed to hold her hand, how I longed to touch her face, how I longedto hear a sound, come from that phone, from far across the town.That night when all went to hell I thought we'd never see the thorns pulledout of our poor old toes. We'd imitate the noises that we thought we shouldmake, howling at the wind and our mistakes.How I longed to touch her hand, how I longed to see her face, how i longedto hear a sound, come from that voice, from far across the land.