Poems

Succour

I always took you for succour
 
Don’t ask why
 
just help me
 
 
Like wine bleeding across a napkin
 
I splattered
 
But I am ever a dark red
 
thick, sour, wet
 
 
Like marbles strewn across paving stones
 
I scattered
 
colourful, childish, bright
 
 
Like old family photos wound up in second-hand bookshops
 
I tattered
 
noble, old and a bit tearful
 
 
This thing you call heart can’t be tidied like a purse
 
The mind can’t be rearranged like a room
 
That’s why I will say
 
just help me
 
don’t ask why
 
 
You I always took for succour​