Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Stephen Waling

print this page

Exiles' Lament

1


Mahogany. We brought this with us, along with a clock that broke.
Really, our lives do break into little stories that mean things. There's
a plate of half-eaten bread and cheese still not stale. We ate

2


It's long since the sight of so much blood made any impact on my
oesophagus. They'd break our fingers if they caught us singing. I'm
afraid I can't recall the words. They mean things, stories. It went
something like

3


There must be a song but I can't recall one. The door's open and the light's on. Better than the current crop of anecdotal crap. But this
table. Everything's left exactly as abandoned by a family at lunch

4


shattered. There's these gashes in the sofa, a rake of wounds but no
blood. But there ought to be songs. Not that I was ever musical: a
voice like chalk on a blackboard. We're trying to make sense of

5


our last meal off this, before leaving. A chair knocked over. I also
brought back the strong smell of nostalgia in a pouch of tobacco. I
once tried riding a bike. But that's gone, smoked years ago. Look,
the windows

6


They missed. I wasn't much cop but if I'd persisted we'd be cycling
home. There was one song. But when we walk through to the back
room, we see them. "Exiles' Lament", "Homeland Dear Homeland,"
something like

 

Page(s) 24

Back to top