Finnieston, December 3rd


It’s a gift, this evening: essay-free,

the cars passing silver, coruscatingly

ugly. I suck in the breath

of a stranger’s smoke, relish

the heady stench of chemicals.

The motorway is an overlap

of several confusions, and I stand

on the bridge above, weighing up

the distance between sky

and concrete.

 

These buildings of green and amber,

whole manner of lights

in windows, the signs glimmering

on the Clyde like the moon

on the sea and I’m still

out here, watching.

 

It’s so cold: the weird wind

and a Christmas tree in every window.

I think of the lines I wrote, all

4000 words incandescent and yet

it stings my cheeks as a memory:

the crisp vertigo of this bridge

and rumblings of traffic beneath

bringing me home, westwards

with the starry call of a drunkard.

[Maria Sledmere]

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s