I watched it all grow
and then slowly wilt, back into nothing
a cycle introduced, a pattern to be followed.
-
I nursed it back to health, burning late nights,
weary but awake with the worry,
just to watch it all dissolve.
-
Trauma unresolved.
-
I felt the ashes in the air
try to bury themselves beneath my clothing
and felt nauseous knowing
the history my breath contained.
-
I still see the funnels,
the chimneys ablaze,
and remember what was lost by our own hands.
-
I still see in your face
the pain I have felt, but never dared to mention
you look ready to melt.
-
We had it all coming, look at what these books
were telling us. We created these circumstances.
I waive the guilt, ‘wrong place, wrong time’,
I wash my hands again, but I won’t sleep again tonight.
-
I don’t deserve history repeating itself,
but it does so by night,
a loop, replaying, projected onto the
insides of my eyelids — wicked memories
in vivid colours,
predominantly red and black.
-
The cranes linger in the night sky,
unmanned, silent, metallic fingers
waiting for a body to grab
and make disappear.
A black car, laying in
wait in the night rain, salivating.
-
I leave the lights off, counting the pennies,
and melt into the darkness,
sinking, sinking, sinking.
-
A plane above blows an engine,
a car nearby crashes and
evolves into a ball of fire,
a factory sees another worker lose another arm
and doesn’t pay out
and I hide behind my pains, behind my walls,
behind it all.
-
Put up the posters,
re-organise the bookshelves,
then bring the walls down.
-
Leave me behind in the rubble.
-
My home does not exist
at the centre of this chaos,
our epic monstrosity.
How can one feel at home
knowing what happened on the
ground on which they stand?
-
The cold of the water feels
like being shaken, the
lungs desperately kick for air.
The flames lick at the roof of
my mouth, but this will
only last a moment.
-
A final vision: all our bodies
floating freely atop
the warming water,
limbs thrown around like
leaves in Autumn winds.
-
Teeth and rings in buckets, again,
and the seas
slowly rising.
Gasping.
About the Creator
Reece Beckett
Poetry and cultural discussion (primarily regarding film!).
Author of Portrait of a City on Fire (2020, Impspired Press). Also on Medium and Substack, with writing featured… around…

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