NaPoWriMo Day 25

Aisling

Our Lady of Bedford,

how is life in reference to everything else,

your equidistance from the brightest stars

of London, and the superior convenience

of Milton Keynes?

Your keep in ruins since the twelfth,

your horizons small and so far from the sea.

You walk barefoot across the brickworks.

You render yourself landscape

without the bare truth of hills.

Your litter, glass and glitter, non recyclable.

You have lied about two paradises,

neither of them real. You are poor to good, like all of us.

Yet, I have lived here for my children's lifetimes,

I have seen my feet turn lily white in your river,

I have slept to the chant of your grey birds.

I have cut out your patch of stars,

and sewn them to an evening gown I won't wear.

In summoning you, your streets turn song.