After Lavinia Greenlaw
My love, the red bricks are still here and so is the sense of loneliness. It is strange to think my roots grew here but I ripped them from their beginnings and tried to plant them elsewhere. The corner shop has closed down. The land is cursed and so is its money. It’s gone from beautician, clinician, mechanic to corner shop. My love, the air feels like the moment you step out of an aeroplane and my secrets have been scattered around this town in whispers, glances and broken signs. It gives me a pulsing heat from sternum to ribcage. Mrs Darlington has gone. I have no words for Mr Darlington. Which words can conquer cancer? The first man to make my heart bleed rides his bike in circles on my street. His hair is lost and his beauty has aged, we talk about the weather and the merits of a steady saddle without ever looking at each other. My love, the old garden is a green fire. I watched them crush it one day with rubble and patio, but the grass and weeds have fought back, the green defiant and oblivious.