The Geography of Myself

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Myself has migrated,
leaving hints of itself,
in old towns and locations,
where it used to be.

In the dirt floor of a sandstone cave,
in the soil of a grandfather’s vegetable garden,
in the cracks of a concrete driveway,
in the drains of a tarmacked road,
and in the corners of an abandoned removal van,
in Shropshire.

In the anchor ropes of docklands,
in the pebbles of beaches,
in the bread swept up by a seagull’s cry,
in the tread of a fisherman’s boots,
in the echoes of a preacher’s rant,
in every town,
all round the coast
of Britain

is a hint of myself.

Now, myself settles awhile,
in the red bricks of suburbia,
in the river banks of the Stour,
in the squelch of a water-logged meadow,
in the fabric of purple chair,
in Suffolk.

Myself migrates
into myself
and out again.


Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 2019

Inspiration taken from ‘One Geography of Belonging’ , by Kayleb Rae Candrilli.

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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