Hampstead Heath
A poem about love in London
By Holly Cullen-Davis
Streaked trees, yellow and red,
Frozen air, sun-still,
The gentlest touch like the brush of a birds wing,
And then the words: “In love…
…with some body else”.
Words settle like cold morning dew,
Covering my body,
Sinking into my skin.
They’re in my feet, my hands,
my stomach, my throat.
The world is suddenly stained by love,
The sky, the trees, the sun, all soiled.
Oh, earth drink me back into your channels of sleep,
Open the lock and let the water flood over me.
Sleep is dark, a dark escape,
I dream of empty midnight streets,
Of derelict houses,
Of drowning in deep black rivers,
But anything is better than love.
That love that hovered in the air,
Hung in the trees and settled on the wet grass,
So potent that it stung my eyes and skin,
Yet belonged to somebody else.
