I will wear it heart-side out;
I will slide it deftly into the pocket
of my jeans. It will be small.
It will be lightweight and strong
pliable as a paperback novella
waterproof and hard-wearing.
There will be space enough to carry
an A4 hard-backed spiral-bound
notebook, with plain and ruled paper,
a fountain pen filled with blue-black ink,
a dictionary, a packet of crayons,
a pencil sharpener, and a rubber eraser.
It will hold the whole company of poets.
There will be Solitude
for the ‘where I’m at’ space:
the place I hide, concealed, cocooned
held safe in a still womb.
There will be Silence
so I can listen out for, try to
hear the rhythm of breathing
and the thrust of a heart-beat
There will be Room
to spread my precious hoard
of words out on the blanket I clutch
for comfort and temporary shelter.
And Nimble fingers
to manipulate their sound
and the shapes they make
as I arrange and rearrange
organise notes on manuscript paper
I will need a structure as I move towards
and alongside releasing and reframing
the something – neither rhetoric, nor prose.
An authentic style to convey the signals,
and communicate the evidence
to carry the message - the intentness and about-ness
over a fragile bridge – in order to tell
you and me both
what I have discovered.
I must have patience and time
to resist the lure of
commodification.
I need the right voice to sing out
or whisper soft into
night’s dark reaches
A tuning fork
to ensure my resonance
is true
A handbag mirror
to reflect
the epiphany
and test that this witness
of what is in the blood
can get up, stand unaided
walk off the page.
© Sophia Roberts
all rights reserved
all rights reserved
