Day 12: write a ‘strange’ poem (see link)
slinks over
every wall, under every stone
along
the winding concrete bank,
a dog
run wild off its leash,
lit by yolk-faced
streetlamps,
iron limbs
striding in formation
beside this
swirling black of sea.
chills the
dip between shoulder bones,
makes us
shiver the entire length
of our spindly,
goose-bumped arms.
my mouth
breathing warmth into my scarf
growing
damp. I worship my woolly hat,
hug my
coat tight, feet unsnug.
And we
pine for heat.
Even
the marauding gulls took cover.
We walk
and walk and walk.
There’s
nothing else to do.
It’s
too cold to stand still.
no letterboxed
door to enter,
no worn-in
sofa to sink into,
no TV channels
to argue over,
no bed
to rest our bones in.
against
the temperature drop of night,
presents
waiting to be opened
beneath
the Christmas tree,
but there
is no one to receive us,
no postage
will cover our cost.
territory,
stalking any stranger who enters.
The fog
caresses our solitariness,
this cold
air our deep freeze,
the sea
reticent to welcome us
each
time we stop to peer in,
trying
to fathom the depth below,
this swirling
current, eerie stink,
a portal
shimmering only for us.
glitter
of the overhanging moon,
its
spindled arc taking us back
to the
beginning of time,
the dawn
of the world we tread.
It holds
stricken clouds like a boa
in a narcissistic
dance across the sky,
jausts the
fog for silent submission,
but
even the moon loses.
spin alien
crafts around constellations,
time travelling
life’s surreal suppositions.
Uninvited,
the fog steals my hand,
tugs me
into a tight embrace
until I
am staring into the abyss,
and all
I can see is a dark mirror
reflecting
every soul I’ve ever met,
every chosen
path, every signpost,
every crossroad
I stood at in confusion.
wriggle,
dive and weave until it folds.
The steely
lamps dip and wink every time,
squeaking
as they bend to look at me
in gratitude
that I choose to walk among them,
this tiny
human with such small, gloved hands
waving to
them so they might see.
