Words Strong Enough to Dig up Your Street
Poem by Alice Willitts
In the heart of this
city, no street-trees. the glaring was hot. neighbours had never gardened. only weather gathers— could we make a framework, run wooden posts along the street, hold up a ceiling of green fat vine leaves a spanning of grapes ripening over tarmac, glistening the ideas come, the young sweat themselves muscled pickaxes and shovels, old men dust the walls on thursday they all come break up the tarmac, bust out the soil flood the street with water from open taps open doors, reluctant green sprouting everywhere by friday our street is a cool weave hands pass chunks of unwanted cars out— glowing pits cooking barbecue vegetables begonias and buddlieja hollering gateway translations neighbours of the oldest language. a horseshoe is hung. glints. dancing light we drag our tired, we story the fire feed the squash with sips of beer and a birdbath splashes saturday into all the sundown songs we’ve ever sung. and I tell you and I’m flagrant with it our whole damn outrageous street gets up as one, shouldering myth and aching and we. are. surging let it rain let it rain let it
Alice Willitts is a poet and plantswoman from the Fens. ‘Kiss My Earth’ (Blue Diode), her second poetry collection, is out now.
Such a stunning piece of writing!
Beautiful!