and still. She puts on her best black.
Drips necklaces of sodium pearls.
She still takes the long way round
her glacial Ex – the one who left her
another dagger between her ribs of bridges.
She wants him back – his ins and outs
of ice. How he breezed in with promises
of peat, clay. Delicious alluvium.
So she dreams heroic North who creaked
and moaned and made her give, grinding
out her juice. She longs for weight
and cold. The broad shoulders.
The ruthless belly, snow-heavy
and white as the moon.
Poem to the Thames,
Mario Petrucci
