‘Ill-fated Associations’ - James Metcalf writes about a life shattered by war
Rachael Parker shares three of her poems with The Yorker
The Yorker talks to three student playwrights premiering their work in the Drama Barn next term.
A poem by J Cridford exploring the imagination and quest for belonging
and it isn’t until now, here
dying my second death
it isn’t before this moment.
the moment when everything that I was
has collided
with what I could have been.
it couldn’t have happened
before now, this time essence
keeping me close.
now. it isn’t until now
that I see how tightly we are bound.
a chain of life extends from
your thin wrist
across all space
to mine.
there is no clasp, no break, no contact.
beyond here, beyond now there is
nothing and everyone
breathing
I believe.
I believe in the utter goodness
of hamsters. I believe that
no tomato should be
left behind. I believe
in wide open spaces
and revolving doors.
I believe in champagne,
and caviar, and takeaways.
I agree.
I agree with road tax
and postage charges. I
agree with partisan literature.
I agree with whoever’s just
spoken and the underdog
of laundry.
I trust.
I trust that the rain will stop, the sun
will come out, and all people
will sunbathe. I trust
that this moment of
time will extend
beyond the plain
up to my homeland, my highlands.
I understand.
I understand that I can’t
change history. Yet. I
understand that power is
held by the few for the
few. I understand why
you lied, and why
you lied for so long.
I believe.
I believe in the death of
self to faith, the importance of
decision, of chocolate. I
believe that the road
is always longer than
you think, and shorter
than you need.
I believe.
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