Bone Exile
The worst day – love becomes ugly,
rain hits horizontal in the eyes,
drains mumble and split in the silence
through frosted windows and wind chills
as trees bend on my obscure road,
roof slates crack and fall
and all shrinks to nothing.
There is a surreal feel to this fall
like a sudden acceleration down Losehill,
or like a fox flattened on the road
all blooded bone and matted fur,
no hint of heaven or after-life
what life within is left?
This numb ache of not belonging
while grey cumulus surrounds, empty
like a clown whose laughter is lost,
whose make-up drips, whose flesh leaks
alongside. I am reduced to this bone
no longer home.
Jeffrey Loffman lives in a village outside Sandwich, Kent. After a childhood in London, he grew up in Yorkshire. His book, Breath-taking: A Geography was published last year. He is the poetry organiser for the Sandwich Arts Week and co-founder of the poetry group SoundLines.