365 Poems – 142 Moving On (Rough First Draft)
I am alone, walking for miles
across frozen seas.
I haven’t just become
depressed. It isn’t a shock,
like a close friend unexpectedly dying,
or a whale washing up dead,
on a gritty shore, with a chemical
I cover every sigh with my hands,
however deep, or shallow,
however laboured or easy,
even though there is nobody
here to hear me.
I open the drawers of my heart
at the bleakest hour. I don’t need
extra space. I just want what
is empty to be filled.
The stars are pinned to the headland.
I have a long way to go
until I reach them.
I lie desolate on the ice, from night
until morning, then have a competition
with the sky, to see who can cry
for the longest.
I would like to listen to second-hand
sounds of the day, and peel the skins
off grapes with my teeth. But I can’t
go back the way I came.
There is only open water,
which would kill me in seconds,
and oddly enough, I don’t want that.