Poem from:

The Truth & Other Stories by Sarah Clancy

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It's the Dark

Clancy, Sarah

a poem for my selves 

On this day of halogen and helium
we are dodging shadows
our eyes squinting against late afternoon sun
but it's with us, despite the whiteness
it's a hand not held
in a dark bedroom, in a dark house, on a dark street
where no one ever thought to leave a light on for us
it's every unblown birthday candle
a school of sorts, an education, 
it's a taunting lane with pine trees and a wind channelled down it, 
itís the terror that made our fat legs pedal faster
made us flee it,
as if, in the bright lights of the kitchen hours later 
we still wouldn't feel it
itís that car journey we didn't want to go on
those other headlights sweeping past in freedom
and our relentless windscreen wipers beating rhythm 
to the place we swore we'd never get to 
on a morning night wouldn't relinquish,
it's a bridge in an inferno crumbling
and I can tell you there's no crossing back over
it's the confessional where we don't know what to say 
or even who to answer to,
itís a hundred pagan folk memories; 
nameless, because they never tried to conquer it,
it's the dark
it's the dark
it's the dark
and it's best to leave it be.

Copyright © Sarah Clancy 2014

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