Vacuum

Sometimes when I stand waiting for the tube, 

I throw my fuzzy gaze around me, and focus;

I watch the huge beast of a train leave the platform,

And the minute it's gone, the very second,

I wonder how something so vast was ever

Right in front of my eyes. Did I dream it?

Now it's just a rusty grey chasm of space 

Seemingly small, old, effortless empty,

Burden removed, groaning and stretching.

Like when you evaporated from my heart.

I wondered how, and why, you ever

Blew up the capacity of my insides. 

But you left there like the speed of the train,

And now all that space, all that space...

I breathe growth. I dance in it. I fly in it. 

Doris Day

(After storm Doris - 23rd February 2017)

Doris axed the branches from the trees,

Brutally cut them down, blew them

With fierce precision onto

The battle field. The park.

And there she laid them down,

Rows and rows and rows,

Spreading and spreading,

Like soldiers laid out after the war -

A cemetery of cindered sprigs.

And there she left them in peace.

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.

Hard to - see the truth,

Hard to - create beauty.

Contentment not ever being

Known for its strength as

An emotion. Through the ages.

No one ever sat and wrote 

Soaring operas, heart-punching poems,

Stomach-ocean tragedies, hand-shaking plays

By being fine. By being OK.

I breathed in a bit of Doris

Through my left nostril, let her

Swirl around my soul and settle there.

I have a storm inside me.

It is simmering now, it is weak, barely

Lifting the lazy leaves off their laurels

Now. But wait. Wait. Wait.

I have a storm inside me,

And Lord, one day she'll blow. 

Knock Knock

Travel is a tricky mistress. She lobs you on her steel-winged back and soars you over to another world, another rhythm. Then she plonks you back. Back here. In my room. And I start to think - did any of it even happen? Was it a dream? But through the gauze of jet-lag I try to remember... that I saw... I'm sure that I saw...

I saw a pair of rubber gloves on a washing line, pegged together by the middle finger in the prayer position. Praying for what? That eventually they'd be reincarnated into human hands instead of plastic cases for them?

I saw a branch with leaves so perfect and precise they looked like bows tied along a maypole. Only Nature could do it so well.

I saw the mountains put on their light evening shawls of the milkiest mist. And somewhere further along the range, the dry ice machine had been left on, on over-drive, pouring and oozing out between the trees.

I saw the stray dogs sleep away the time and the stray cats glare away the time. 

I saw a farmer stand in a field like a scarecrow, surveying our slow passing train, and at the last moment he waved his straw hand with such vitality it split his canvas face into a grin. 

I saw children swarm like ants out of the hive of their schoolroom to wave with their entire bodies at us.

I saw a piece of tofu get invaded by the twirl of my rice noodles, it strapped itself to the back of my fork like a child clinging to the back of its mother. 

I saw sad little crumpled ghosts of lanterns, grey and thin and smouldered, their wishes outgrown them.

I saw the small ripped corners of Coffeemate sachets get taken by the wind, they blew an absurd plastic confetti at us, a western convenience rubbish celebration in our faces.  

I saw a long leaf hanging by a thread to its mother tree, swinging like a pendulum and keeping perfect time. And then I hear it - one two, one two... one two, one two...

I saw the knock knock pulse of a double fit of lightning, revealing the clouds like an x-ray, a naked sky. 

I felt the wind blow such unpredictable splats at my face, it felt like we were locked in an invisible game of paint ball, and he was winning.

I heard... Or I thought I heard... The growl of a wild bear? No, it was the drone of a motorbike. 

I heard the laughter and garbling of a taxi driver. It sounded like a woman screaming, or crying, or mourning, or warbling, an unimpressionable sound, of colour and warmth and an outpouring of joy. It slapped grins on our faces like they'd been stamped there. 

I heard thick hardy branches rattle against the open windows of the train carriages like the world's longest glockenspiel.

The pulsing beat of

Every street corner

Tuk tuk, tuk tuk

Or the crickets cry

Chirp chirp, chirp chirp

Or the bass of the boat

Chug chug, chug chug

Or the metronome leaf

One two, one two

The heartbeat of a nation 

Soaring on the wind

The translation comes

And finally I get it

What it's saying is

I'm free, I'm free, I'm free...

So I suppose it did happen. The sights live forever in the black of my eyelids. Plus the itchy mosquito bite raging on my leg is as good a reminder as any.

Sam

Where the fuck is this place? Google maps is going mental, me and the blue dot seem to be darting about as fast as superheroes. Pretty pathetic Batman and Robin we'd make. Ok it's settled. Can't be far now. I nearly trip stepping off the curb but manage to rescue it and cross over the road. Silk Street, this is it.

My heart is beating so fast and so loud it seems amazing to me that the people I pass don't hold out their arms ready to catch me. I feel hot and freezing and shivery and like a drum all at the same time. It's like I'm going through the shock of it before it even happens. Which I suppose is good. Should be a walk in the park.

I got a text from him earlier today. "Sam. Can we meet up for a talk later? 6pm. Lakeside. Barbican". I don't know why he bothered asking the question and then giving me instructions. I didn't reply but he knew I'd come. He loves all that mysterious intrigue. And at the same time as thinking this, I wonder why I'm thinking about what he loves when he's about to break up with me.

He's already there, thank god. And even though I know what's coming, nothing can quite prepare me for the sight of the person who once loved me, who I still love, and is about to be severed from my life. Surprised that my spine is still managing to carry my jelly frame in a relatively straight line, I head over to him.

He's positioned himself artistically in front of one of the fountains, feet dangling loose. He's wearing a relaxed cable knit beige jumper for the occasion. A perfect choice. Nothing says break up like "I just needed to be in my comfy clothes today". I have probably dressed a bit too carefully, but I think I look alright. You need to feel you look alright at these times, right?

He's got his book in his lap, and is looking very moved by what he's reading. My guess is that he's been keeping up this subtle solemn expression for at least the last ten minutes anticipating my approach. He must be dying to crack a smile.

Suddenly he looks up sharply and gazes out at the water, no doubt finding some symbolism between himself and the ebbs and flows. He does this angle on purpose cause he knows it shows his perfect solid manly fucking gorgeous jawbone. He must have seen me coming.

Here goes.

"Hi," I say.

He looks up, holds my gaze and manages a weak and emotion-filled "hey..."

You can actually hear the dot dot dots in his voice, I swear to god.

It's difficult to know how to play this, seeing as I know exactly what's going to happen. I text my mate Karen earlier and she was all supportive and useless. She insisted that I have no idea what it could be about, don't presume anything, just go along with an open mind. At least she didn't say he might propose. 

I decide to let him run the game, I'm not gonna give him anything. I sit down next to him and he reaches out and holds me for a long while. Usually I'd just call it a hug, but he actually really is holding me. When he pulls away, he looks into my eyes and if I'm honest it feels incredibly awkward and weird. I feign a 'this is too much' expression to pull away and he nails an 'I understand' face.

"You remember this place?"

That's what he starts with. I take this moment to look around to actually remember where I am. I was so concerned about getting there and what's about to happen that I can't even remember... It's not the Southbank, I know that much, I had to cross the river. Northbank?

"We came here to see a film, years ago, you said it was like going to a bunker it was so deep underground."

I don't have a clue what he's talking about, nor do I remember it. Is he thinking of a previous girlfriend? In any case, he seems to want me to be affected by the symbolism of it despite the fact I have no memory of this apparently emotionally weighted evening. I can't quite think what to do or say so I resolve to look down and let the evening sun flutter through my eyelashes hoping I look graceful and folourn. Or I'd settle for slightly pretty.

I think the gesture gives him the effect that I'm deeply impacted by the memory. He puts his hands on mine and they are so warm, I hate that because for necessity's sake I really want him to keep them there. 

"You're a wonderful woman, I want you to know that. You are sunshine personified. And just cause we've run our course-"

I stop listening. I realise that this is actually how he's gonna do it. He's not gonna be brave enough to say what the hell's going on. He's not gonna own the break up. He's just gonna assume I know. Which of course I do. But he doesn't know that. And this simple act of cowardice tells me more about him than anything I've known in our two years together. And it's at that precise moment that I know who he really is.

A pigeon is hopping dead close behind him so I decide to look away and focus on the bird. The pigeon's almost comically close and I will it to bite his hand or poop on his head (without the good luck) or flap like crazy right in his chiseled face.

He's still talking, really relishing himself. Even when he's breaking up with me, he's still dominating the conversation. It's really all about his anguish. I could be anyone as long as he gets to properly feel all the anguish in the fucking world. 

In between chapters, he stares at me for way too long. It feels very strange and I'm dangerously close to hysterical laughter but I think I'm supposed to look pained. I'm bloody freezing to be honest so pained isn’t too much of a push. He properly knows about my bad blood circulation as well, he's one of these 'wear socks in bed' nazis. Why couldn't he have broken up with me in Nando's? I could murder a spicy rice right now. Oh yeah, look pained.

"You're going to be OK," he says. 

I know mate, I'm already planning my post break-up google: 'nearest nandos'.

"You’re right. I think I will-"

"You will"

"Yes. I think I will-"

"You will"

He's pissing me off now, but I do a self-deprecating smile and really add some gravitas when I say "Thank you."

The wind changes and I get a right splattering in the face from the fountain. There goes my perfect base. If he's gonna break up with me, I thought earlier, at least I can make sure my make up is bloody flawless. As if he's gonna see my blusher sat perfectly and pertly on the apples of my cheeks and change his mind. Pathetic.

"It's time for us to move on Sam," he says. And he's actually getting his stuff together. That was bloody quick, I think, and now he's actually gonna leave me sat here freezing my tits off in god knows where with an over-confident pigeon. But before he actually leaves, his final scene. He stares at me. And stares. And stares. 

A bit of hair drops in his eye and I know it must be really annoying him. It must be well itchy. But he won't push it away, at least not without a gesture of grief or to wipe away a tear. He doesn't want to look vain.

And then he's gone. I see him slide out of the frame of my eyesight. My eyeballs are locked, staring, and he just... disappears from view. I don't watch him walk away although I know he wants me to. I just stare at the fountain blankly, my mouth hanging from the slack strings of my jaw bone. My expression, I know, is something akin to gormless.

Ten minutes later, I find myself back on the odd streets of the deserted City. It's Saturday and everything feels eerie and unreal. I mean when Boots is closed on a Saturday, you know it's an odd place. I have no idea where I'm going or where I am, I haven't even got the energy or sense to get my phone out and have a look. I don't want to see any texts. I don't want to see anything.
           "Excuse me, miss."

I nearly jump out of my skin. A homeless man stands in front of me.

“Excuse me, miss, I'm trying to get into a hostel tonight. I'm homeless and - it's gonna be a cold night and -"

I get my purse out of my bag and see what I have.   

"Thank you, miss, thank you. Do you know - you're the first person who has looked at me all day. Let alone helped me. You're the first person who's even seen me, thank you, thank you so... are you alright miss?"

My face is soaked. Snot, sweat, tears, the lot. It'll always catch you off guard, won't it, heartbreak?

I give him everything in my purse. Amazingly it amounts to thirty three pounds and sixty one pence. 

I offer the man the warmest wobbliest smile I can muster and walk on, completely and utterly aimless. I decide to trust my inner compass and weave my way between the soulless mocking towers hopefully towards home. 

No Nando’s. 

Grace

It's not very long before
They start rolling out the free
Bottled water. "Sparkling or-?"

Still we're here. A standstill,
A brief cloud of momentum
Paused. An onward feeling halted.

We get sporadic updated from
A faceless man who has the grace
To sound sad. No one else.

A man opposite me jokes
To his near-by stranger that soon
"Drinks on me!". How funny.

Meanwhile a person is lying
Dead on the rail tracks beneath us.
A human. A child. Once.

Fishergirl

(For my niece)

A taut line tugs between our hearts,

A fish hook lodged deep in my grey flesh

And when you leave me it snaps.

The lump in my throat balloons into

A full neck brace and the snot is not

Pollen induced. I blink to try and

Keep the waters well within their borders

But the tide is rising, relentless,

Reaching far in-land and bursts its banks.

I can't help

How much I love you.

Us moon babies are born from

The same flower. We see the same,

Talk, fight, laugh the same.

Sometimes you catch my gazing

And face betrays heart. I am guilty.

Caught red-handed, I hear

The click of a torch, I see

The stark bright white orb glaring

And I babble with bubbling fear that

"Yes, Officer, it was me who murdered-"

Whoever. Adoring you, the way I do, feels

Dangerous, a crime, and you

The all-ignorant victim of my love.

All you see is fun, sun, bogies, emojis,

Fountains, mountains, unicorns, newly born

Magic and spells, rock-pools and shells,

Cats and dogs and rabbits and hippogriffs,

Ponies and unicorns and dinosaurs and just a whiff

Of wisdom beyond your years. Of concrete strength.

So off you jump, fishing rod dangling and

Bashing from the straps of your rucksack.

And though this pain is deep and sharp,

I stop struggling, flapping, flailing and splashing

And just float in my ocean of love for you.

Crumbs

I keep collecting crumbs -
They really are the crusts of Love
But hey, they're all I have.
Some of them have been dipped
Green in mould, some really
Put the crumb in breadcrumb,
Some stale and some sink into the
Creases of my brown paper bag,
But I won't get rid of them.
They're all I have.

I'll know the morning when it comes,
The sun breaking through my window
Will whisper
When it's time to scatter them,
Throw them to the high winds and
Feed the birds
Spread the word
Flap the beat of the chant
Pulsing through the sky
Spray the broken atoms of
A Thing-Like-Love
And voodoo-like, it will take
The pins out of my heart.