My City

A garden wrapped in wool

pink, yellow and lavender

Hill

London flits through my mind

noise of birds, the bustle and smell

it’s quiet here

coastal

Bird calls are my sirens

crashing waves the south circular

this garden my Clapham Common

I’m home away from

home

A city that I longed to escape

pulls at me

Tugging at my hair, my skin, my nails

My breath comes too freely here

I gulp to fill my lungs with smog

just a salted sea breeze

Swansea croaks with fresh air

The spines of my books cracking with salt.

birds cat calling in the trees

I am isolated here

a child with her parents

escaped back to

home

From there to here

I long for what I had had

enough of

of London

 

Touch

The mistake, the bruise, the orgasm.

I wish to rub it out,

Sometimes.

To think about that crooked cock

Differently.

The one that unsettled

That was a tacit connection.

We could still touch through him

Could we?

Far apart I brought us closer.

With the rough smooth of skin on skin.

We dont know each other anymore.

You’re just a number in a phone

My phone.

January 1st

The beginning of the new year

The beginning of a new period

Blood stains the gusset

Watching fireworks and wondering what it will bring

perched on a hill in the howling wind

Striding along the street we chatter loudly about new years resolutions

A tired tradition they will recommend new ways to keep

Be kinder or just be nice Orla

Orange cat curled on a white bed

Walking up the hill out under blue skies

That man has the loudest slippers on earth and a camel dressing gown

Turning to Catfood and fizzy drinks

Retracing steps in a different direction

To the house

The home

The new year

And Thai food.

Lowseck and Granroth

Two languages twisting in air

Wrapping you

Religious words through compromise

 

Gold dangles at your earlobe

Jenny

Stolen smiles between the two of you

 

Sniff and a rustle for tissues.

Net stretches, bending bodies

Hands swollen

 

Nervous, a shove, a push, a giggle

Blessed by mothers

The back of your neck bends elegantly

 

We flirt with tears

Some more successfully than others

Petals and confetti pelted at you swirl softly about your bodies.

 

Pillar like

Imposingly beautiful, strong.

Tartan and lace catching like velcro

 

Woven but not bound

Richard

A photographer stands on a ladder

 

Freckles wink through fine netting

Vintage volvo but no tin cans

Pickled fish and haggis  

 

You are different now

But no different to the people

in that small London flat.

 

“Freedom in small things

Unity in major matters

And love in all things”

Highway code

Overtaking me at the junction at a right hand turn.

I need to learn the highway code

I am a dopey woman

a prick

Your Aston Martin

Isn’t it lovely big and black

You in your suit and your pinstripe shirt

slamming your horn

Mansplaining

Your partner sitting next to you chiming in with unsisterhoodly remarks.

Cool headed with my flat rear tire

I know the highway code

I am avoiding a serious puncture

My words rundown by your slurs on my character

Heating up

Cold flat surface under my finger tips

Reflexes pull at my hand

At your wing mirror

Prick

Wanker

We have demeaned us both.

Father

Opposite

turning your ear

and hearing my words

 

Content and peaceful

we are sitting here

glass walls, ice drafts

 

Floating words

branch to branch

slow but not awkward

 

Savouring time

Frames sealed in my mind

safety with you

 

Ice rests on my feet

better shoes, toe tapping, warmer socks

you’re right

 

Buy books, and more

shared words

shared smiles

 

Finger stinging

sagging rubber, sharp spokes

permanent puncture, squealing breaks

 

Carmine face

chapped hands

and boiled water

 

Radiators armed against the cold

seeps in across floors. Crack.

a stylus in a haystack

 

Wheeling down a grey stair

lemons tumble into a frame

a contented sigh.

 

Common 

Trees rustle as they are

Teased and undressed

By the autumn wind

Sky like a palette of

Blues, golds, pinks and oranges

Scraped by a painters tooth comb

Illuminated plane trails

Crossed by birds in flight

Paths across the earth 

Heavy weighted breath

A flash of fluorescent orange

Pounds across the grass

Fox

Found out lying next to the bin by dad

No eyes with bared teeth

Hit by a car and slunk here to die

Your tail brushed my skin as you fell head first into the black bin bag

Softness rarely felt accompanied by a squeal and a glare

The bag was stretched wide for you like an open mouth, and swallowed you whole

Your form was rigid and comic, your four limbs outstretched

Frozen whilst running

The size of a house cat, you could not have been that old

You were buried unceremoniously with yoghurt, bits of cereal and a couple of crisp packets

You beautiful elegant creature.

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