I closed roads to cars leading into my heart and have found more space for couples to stroll and kids to mark the streets with chalk birds and lions. The number of people whispering secrets has also increased three-fold, but that may be from more people meeting without needing to not pause. I may begin closing my heart’s skies to plane traffic, just because I’d like to hear the sun’s motors whirring again.
This week Jenny Pagdin talks about the inexpressible in poetry and her experiences of post-natal psychosis which she explores in her pamphlet Caldbeck. Here she responds to the poetry prompt set by Jamie Osborn in the first episode to write a poem on borders and intimacy. Please submit your own response to this and other prompts on the podcast here.
When I crossed your border I ought to have held your language – tactile and direct – on my unwieldy tongue.
and when I edged onto your landlocked patch I should have offered you something for your integrity.
And those nights you lay drifting, permeable, I ought to have carried you through the crowd of voices like an untuned radio in the dark.