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

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Lewis Stewart

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03:16

I saw
from the beginning
to the end.

I missed nothing.
There were no interruptions;
no impediment to my view.
The scene was amply lit.
I could hear, though faintly.
I could not make out precisely what was said.
I watched.

With total clarity
like hard light from behind the storm’s edge
with strange slowness like an action replay
with isolation
like laboratory specimens
with lack of emotion
like nervous actors on their stage
even with beauty

It took three minutes, sixteen seconds.
I watched.
I did not switch on my light.
My telephone, four feet to my right, I did not use.
My hands, feet, voice were still.
In the struggle she had lost one of her shoes.

Twenty-five others saw it from the apartment block.
They used their eyes;
not their lights, telephones, hands, feet, voices.
Like me, they watched.
It took three minutes, sixteen seconds.
The shoe was about five yards away, by the kerb.

Afterwards,
when the subject had been removed
and only the children pointed
where the paint had been spattered,
we learnt who we were
in silent glances
and kept the secret that all of us shared.

Here,
we know that in one way we belong
as we walk together
and walk alone.

 

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