Poetry

Splitting Dust
After ‘White Walls’ performance by Leah Francis, 2021

Whistles laced into the wind 
splitting dust
wearing silence
thin. 

Murmurations, ancient guttural calls
split tarmac
crumble walls
to blissful buttery pudding

Echoes bounce endlessly 

Spitting dust 
perpetually 

Regurgitating gravel and the grit of our past 

Eating Earth

Lost sounds surface 
on water 
nestled in the twisted crook of a birds wing
a matriarchal mother sings 

Stop looking and you will hear

The dust in my mouth 
stifling the thing 
I most need to shout


‘I’m Moving’ for RJC Dance, Leeds
March 2020

I’m moving. 

Watch these arms make shapes, rings around me.
Positions from hours, in dance studio mirrors.
Hips roll, toes point, head over feet.

I try to loosen, to reverse this bolt someone tightened, 
so long long ago, to make me dance neat.

I need to drop low now. 
I need to let go.
I need to be free of it, finally, be me. 

A music found me or I found it, a rhythm, a new dance, a carnival beat.
And when you know, you know.
You return to it year after year, week after week.

And it’s feeding my soul, as I devour each beat.


The Sky

I love to gaze
for hours
at the sky

nothing but the sky
the clouds, the light

I am so small
am I, am I

No matter the formation
of the clouds
the weather
or the mood

The sky, the sky
my god
my reason why
the sky.