Yet

Strange what one remembers,

and what one doesn’t. 

In the beginning it was Spiderman.

Though I did not know yet.  Seeing

was all one could do as 

there was no way of knowing. 

Fort Street, Belfast.  Rolled up on the rug. 

Warm.

Granny nearby doing what I couldn’t say. 

Couldn’t speak, couldn’t know. 

Couldn’t say what was going on outside either. 

Because Spiderman was not yet Spiderman. 

Granny not yet Granny.  Belfast not Belfast. 

There was no understanding of these things. 

There was only seeing.  Noticing.  Never knowing. 

I do not remember the noise of the people fighting. 

Nor the smell of the bonfires burning.   

Later everything ran.  By arrangement. 

Coldly recorded for historical significance. 

To those events I cannot access like this one    →     (           )

and these ones   →      (           )                       (           ) 

and the rest  I do not possess, I give you Spiderman.  

Not yet Nicholas Hammond.  Looming over this child on the rug

in a house on Fort Street, Belfast.

From a giant screen that is not yet a screen. 

Not yet a memory.