Homesick

Homesick

At night   I lay   swaddled    our bare feet
touch and tangle,   you   breathe deep
and long   and I stare   upwards.

In darkness, my stomach hangs with oat-lumps
and bile, churning its way into my lungs,
pushing up and out.

A spider lives inside me, spins its web
around my ribcage, windpipe-scuttling,
choking me in dreams.

I fear I will cough up hot Welsh soil,
spit it out like tar in purging retribution,
brought about by our betrayal.

Closed eyelids bring me daffodils, rolling hills
and valleys, the back-garden washing line
with its broken plastic pegs.

The sea calls me back, begs me to come home,
to kick up golden grains and wet my shellfish
toes with salt water.

I ache for my dogs, their paws, soft and pink
and padded, those cotton-sock ears
with their honey-smell.

My body is starved and bruised, blackened
by the loss of my land, I am currant-stained
and empty.

It is only now I have crossed the border
that I know Hiraeth, feel its pull in my gut
and its clutch on my pumping heart.


GOLD-STAR-MEDAL100434-1077Highly commended in The Welsh Poetry Competition 2016 and appears in the accompanying anthology, 10 Years On.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Gareth says:

    Read Yeats!

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