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

I haven’t heard a gunshot in days. Five friends just left and the room is tied with a tight knot of silence, so I have taken this opportunity to put pen to paper. I miss you all. Yesterday and also this afternoon, I noticed that Spring was returning to us again. I think that this came as a surprise of sorts. Out here it is easy to lose track of the seasons. I cannot find my uniform anywhere.

During the past few years, my position has been under attack every night and for most of the day. Pain, both mental and physical, became a frequent occurrence. Sometimes there were brutal complications. But, of course, you know about Jane and the basic details of what we did to one another. Thanks for the butter-knite and the dried flowers. Yorkshire seems far further away than the miles between us.

How strange this life is, and how much stranger it has suddenly become. Though I am now more than a little afraid of relationships the recent past has wrought a change in my circumstances. I have as much sex as I could wish for, and there is more here for the taking. They tell me I am a fine lover. They smile and say I make them happy. Yet, if the truth were to be told, I find this unexpected calm period a little hard to handle. I cannot see the enemy at all. The beaches are apparently deserted and their ships have gone. I suspect some trickery. There must be mines buried in the sand. Maybe they have moved a mile or so down the coast. They will surely have left snipers. Everywhere I anticipate something sinister, but can find nothing to substantiate this. It is too quiet out there, and I know my own mind too well to drop my guard. I have adopted a cautious stance. I think that if you could see me now you would laugh at how ridiculour I seem. No uniform. No enemy in sight. No contact with my unit. I am driven by force of habit and, though it appalls me, I can only think in terms of violence.

Suddenly I am exhausted by it all. But I dare not, I cannot let myself relax for a moment. If something moves, I shall shoot it. I pray to God it is not a friend. Perhaps you could send me a description of the enemy. I find I have difficulty with such details. Do you have any indication as to when this war will end? Maybe it is already over. I find myself wondering who has won. As I stand here alone, am I in danger of becoming the agressor?

Morning approaches. How I long to sleep. Did I thank you for the butter-Knife and the dried flowers? I cannot find my uniform anywhere. Here there is no difference between gunfire and laughter, or, at least, none that I can detect. I shall close now and move forward a few yards while darkness remains.

Yours as ever,

Nick