Synaesthesia Magazine Cities - Page 74

On the Mile End Road you can connect nothing

with nothing, or too much; under the skin

the blood wanders, at your knees and elbows you

are blue. I cannot tell you to bring yourself in,

ringing in Father’s Day with the slow pulse

of the dead, under the skin, under the skin,

and the lost rivers beneath the cars beating

and beating on, the way the bells are marking

time, a summoning: under the skin you are

blue. Your fag smoke rises: you connecting,

mouth to sky, and under the Mile End Road

at the Black Ditch (under the skin, the skin)

the Earth holds fast the water. I cannot bring

you in; even the bells cannot bring you in.

Ear to the ground: the mapping of the water-

courses, the mapping of the blood that sings

where you are blue. Blue smoke and sky, you

are connecting nothing with nothing, London,

London, you connect too much.

Father's Day 2013

Ella Risbridger lives in a tiny flat in the East End and dreams of rolling hills. She's currently working on a couple of novels, a collection of poetry, a brand-new food website, a degree, and writing things for anyone who wants to read what she's got to say. She really needs a holiday. You can find her on a writey blog (missellabell.wordpress.com), and the aforementioned brand new cooking blog, eatingwithmyfingers.com.