Issue 22: Jeremy Gibson
woolwich flats
i sit in the shallows waiting for eels cross-legged on
the green mud at the margins of a lead smutted river
*
there’s a crowd of water as we brace ourselves on the
slime of an old ferry slipway waiting for eels themselves wild
silver rivers in cold green clay
*
so i walk slowly over the water to meet the river we aren’t much
like friends it won’t turn to answer
*
when the river’s my doorstep it holds me indoors in the other
room it’s eyes can rage mouth spit vinegar and on a shit day
like today hold me tight to its lips
*
on the days when the river looks like uncooked liver over
knots of eels their eyes are compasses with a rusty nail
that spins to our lowest tides
*
the water is drowning a shadow of holes capturing clouds
unwelcome dreams and undone trees where the river takes hold
*
we are neighbours so i talk to them eels they don’t snitch but
i know they know that the holes in the water are best
*
the eels watch from the flats as i sink in my clothes of silt i
lean into the drink mouth my last name to them and drift
into their grin
Jeremy Gibson is a language teacher and is now exploring poetry. He was born and raised in South-East London. This is his first published poem.
Copyright © 2019 by Jeremy Gibson, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
