Monday, 18 November 2019

A poem by Clarissa Aykroyd

The poets I most admire tend to be the ones that don't follow trends, that are in this for the long haul, that don't have any choice but to be in this, that plough their own furrow. Suffice to say, Clarissa Aykroyd is one of those poets, which is why I'm so happy she'll be reading with us on 28th November (see Facebook page, blah, blah...).

Her poem today is sinuous. It's written in clear-cut language yet it hints at contradiction, ambiguity and ambivalence, dropping clues into the mix, layering them like the plot of a thriller...


This is the room. I am the client
who has waited for an hour.
The skull, the bullet holes, the files
are fading but the sound of footfalls
on the seventeen steps is clear.
This is the dream. I know
he can’t solve this, but I’m still here. 

(First published in Lighthouse)

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