ISSUE II: Odyssey

POETRY
POETRY
A
L
L
T
H
E
THINGS
THAT MAKE ME
miss you
they say that when you're on a ladder
you should maintain three points of contact
to be truly safe
but with you, i find so many more than that
spread across the day:
By THOMAS STOCKLEY
i find you in every mention of iceland
pip people
(we will be
orchards)
By THOMAS STOCKLEY
in this unprecedented dent
on our collective lives
space is growing for some of us
to bloom.
space for we, the chronically anxious
the bent and abandoned
we who never fit in this world anyway;
and now the world doesn't fit itself.
we, whose idea of a good time
is taking the toaster to a water park
just to see what happens.
we, who have been waiting for a kinder world
since our hearts were first broken.
we, who have been tenderised
by the meat mallet of modern living.
the furloughed and forgotten
the ones who thought ourselves rotten to the core
are realising that,
all this time,
we were full of pips
tiny cases of infinite potential
sewn in some kind of rubble.
and i know that we'll bloom,
that we will be orchards
when all of this
is over.
and i remember your mother tongue.
in every song that we once shared,
i remember the rest of your mouth.
i stare into the light that falls
on either side of the day
until it belongs to someone else.
i present every meal to myself, alone
and wish you were there to appreciate the plating.
i think of you with every new street cat i befriend
and even the ones that walk away
still remind me of you.
you are here, almost physically
with every bottle of mid-price red wine in a plastic glass
and anything that could remotely be considered a picnic.
i see you in the spectrum of colours
that traces the food in our fridge
and i miss you most
in the knowledge that sundays are less fun
without you.
By ARUN PAUL KAPUR
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