London Child

February 11, 2012 § Leave a comment

A poem I wrote nine years ago and revised last weekend…

London Child


she lies all day

in the bath


bottletop kneecaps

higher than her head


watching the tidal flow

of shadows over plaster.


If I turned my head it would brush the ceiling


Under the stairs

a forest of watch chains

tolls and tolls.


If I put my hand out the window it would

skim the garden wall


A windowpane shivers:


if she lets the water slip over her ears

in her porcelain echo chamber


she hears


under the distant clangour

of a train

streaming towards Blackhorse Road


the muted groan of crystal vaults

scraping past each other.


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