on the ride home from the fado bar,
uber driver repeats is the music okay?
i glance at the man rated 4.64 on the app,
reassure him, slit window open
so evening breeze seeps in.
eyes binge on honeycomb streetlights,
ivy-coated buildings, narrow roads
that meander and reconvene like old friends.
i tell myself when i get home i will write a poem
about this.

i write about my auntie
struggling to breathe
on a hospital bed,
how i did not pray too
hard for her,
god knows her voice
better than mine.
she dies.

on a late train home after pizza with a friend,
the dlr conductor’s mouth moves like a puppet
before the final stop she announces: thank you,
good night, and remember to stay happy.
her speech is a summer day sans sun,
urges me to etch her longest nights
into a poem.

i write a poem about loneliness.

on a late bus home i remember when adventure was mother
entering the front door after a night shift, thirst
for voyage beaming through her nursing uniform.
let’s go to cardiff, she’d say, summoning my sister and i
out of our beds on a saturday morning.
two hours later we’d be crossing the severn bridge.
we did nothing special: browsed around the shopping centre,
bagged some clothes, fast food, barry island
if it was sunny. it was everything.

i write a poem about women
in my family living
in an alternate universe.

i’d fetch you tissues but you don’t need them here.
tupac floats on a cloud two metres above me,
a halo hovers over his blue bandana,
for a second i’m unsure if it’s him and the cloud moving or me.
i beat my brain for some banter to serve, like
so does heaven have a ghetto?
but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth,
i want to cry but can’t. pac escorts me down an alleyway
of lavender clouds. i feel i should write a poem about this.

i write a self-help poem.

a baby perched on their dad’s shoulders
as an escalator carries us down to solid ground.
smiles all gums and dribble, joy in a wee bundle,
and i forget that i am angry with god. the fear of living
shrivels into something bearable, gentle.
i promise myself i will write a poem about this, too.

poetry-magazineThings I Mean to Write About

Things I Mean to Write About