The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.

Kate Wilson reads her own 'Drift'

June 27, 2020 Various
The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.
Kate Wilson reads her own 'Drift'
Chapters
The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.
Kate Wilson reads her own 'Drift'
Jun 27, 2020
Various

Kate J Wilson's work has appeared in the Pendle Anthology of War
 Poetry, Alliterati, and Reflections. She has been shortlisted for the
 National Memory Day Poetry Competition, Cinnamon Press Pamphlet
 Competition and highly commended in the Red Cross Day of the Disappeared
 creative writing competition.

Drift
 
 We have to sit down to some lessons
 
 again and again before they stick
 
 a feather breath drifting to sleep
 
 as we kiss goodbye for the last time
 
 you wanted to make love, to pretend
 
 we were still in it. I turned away.
 
 I remember the tug of your hand
 
 on my sleeve, how it felt to be needed
 
 how you pleaded for relief like a junkie
 
 palms pushing against walls, painfully
 
 those splintered nights and days
 
 cracked irreparable. It was impossible
 
 to see the break between dawn and dusk
 
 a drift of commuter trains, phone calls
 
 to a psychiatrist who spoke so softly
 
 it was as if he wasn't speaking at all
 
 your silence, a greater damnation
 
 and you had so many demands
 
 I wish I could forget, select three words
 
 instead; the finest most delicate words
 
 whispered in moonbeam hours
 
 when hope still struggled within us
 
 but I had to let the feather fall
 
 after all, we can't unlearn the past.

Support the show (https://thebluenib.com/donation/)

Show Notes

Kate J Wilson's work has appeared in the Pendle Anthology of War
 Poetry, Alliterati, and Reflections. She has been shortlisted for the
 National Memory Day Poetry Competition, Cinnamon Press Pamphlet
 Competition and highly commended in the Red Cross Day of the Disappeared
 creative writing competition.

Drift
 
 We have to sit down to some lessons
 
 again and again before they stick
 
 a feather breath drifting to sleep
 
 as we kiss goodbye for the last time
 
 you wanted to make love, to pretend
 
 we were still in it. I turned away.
 
 I remember the tug of your hand
 
 on my sleeve, how it felt to be needed
 
 how you pleaded for relief like a junkie
 
 palms pushing against walls, painfully
 
 those splintered nights and days
 
 cracked irreparable. It was impossible
 
 to see the break between dawn and dusk
 
 a drift of commuter trains, phone calls
 
 to a psychiatrist who spoke so softly
 
 it was as if he wasn't speaking at all
 
 your silence, a greater damnation
 
 and you had so many demands
 
 I wish I could forget, select three words
 
 instead; the finest most delicate words
 
 whispered in moonbeam hours
 
 when hope still struggled within us
 
 but I had to let the feather fall
 
 after all, we can't unlearn the past.

Support the show (https://thebluenib.com/donation/)