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.

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