Pilgrimage
We sat on Porlock hill in the brunt face
of the Atlantic, the cairn scattered
with your ashes a year ago and a week,
approached with wide eyes
and open shoulders; reached the peak
in warmth – a swimmer warms herself
in channel. When we looked back,
the world was topsy-turvy, the sea the sky.
Your furniture fills the home:
the mirrored wardrobe a foot shy
of catching our lovemaking;
the escritoire; the nightdress
with a rip beneath its right shoulder;
unleafed beside our bed, King Arthur.
Matt Bryden‘s poetry has appeared in Stand, Magma, Warwick Review and Modern Poetry in Translation. His pamphlet Night Porter was a winner of the Templar Pamphlet and Collection prize 2010. His first collection Boxing the Compass is forthcoming.