Nailed to the Sky

by Robert Warrington

If only I had any idea what you did
on hot blue Saturdays
If I knew where you were likely to be
I could create the conditions
to run in to you by accident
Not knowing
not even being able to guess
I walk from the suburbs of purgatory
to the bus terminus from hell
hoping for a miracle glimpse
of your skittering, jittery shadow
on latter-day pavements
with medieval beginnings
or that the crowd
drifting towards the shopping centre
with the stained glass windows
will part and reveal you
standing like an icon
in the exact spot
where hawkers and peddlers
once sold splinters of the true cross
But there are no places
marked with the X
of your sainted bones
only the X
of my petrified hopes
and calcified desires
You’re somewhere else
moving on glittering heels
through someone else’s summer
leaving mine
to visions of high street vendors
with onion ring halos
and no one’s selling anything
that can fill the you-shaped hole
Even the council begonias
become instruments of torture
Their stems are nails
Their petals nail-heads
You hammer them in by being elsewhere
You hammer them in without meaning to
All summer long
I hang above the town
nailed to the sky
suspended
in a clear solution
as acrid as alchemist’s
sulphurous clouds
You put me here
and only you can get me down
Only your cool
claw hammer fingers
can pull out these nails
that open and flower

 

 

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~ This piece was posted on Monday, July 7th, 2008 and was filed under Blog, Writing, Poetry, Featured. You can make comments on it below. ~