An Elegy to Sheffield for 2016
Unfortunately a hangover that hits those who cannot drink it the hardest.
Unfortunately a hangover that hits those who cannot drink it the hardest.
The true new beginning is to live stripped, willing and wilful at the starving edge of brightening days, where solstice endured yields to winter birthing spring.
These wisps of disconsolation are a fleeting eulogy to falling, a carol to the withering season.
Does absence becomes presence, a sacrament of holding— latent as I evoke you now and a young girls hand slips into mine?
I curled my hand around its grace; it touched my soul like a mother’s face.
Then when the stars tumble from the sky at the end, our shining will illuminate scars on love’s invincible face.
I will speak out about my city in my ready northern tongue and make a simple solid vow to tell your stories with the honesty I got from you.
If you haven’t been keel hauled by life, then you’re not living.
Your life is within, a fine filament that arises in your given soul.
Believe in the bird’s song, and the way the sun rises, slowly, the steady beat of your pulse, at that pace you can love it all.