By Patrick Williamson
Facing my face
Listen to the sounds within, the sonar of the fridge,
the clicking of the pipes as the heating starts, the
irregular clunking of the cooling system, the ticking
of the analogue clock, the silent waving of trees in the
wind outside, the air passing through the hairs in your
slightly-stuffed nostrils, the rise and fall of your chest,
your pulse when earphones plugged in, and the quiet
without, broken only by the neighbour unlocking and
locking three times each night before the sun sets, and
the children’s shouts drifting through the wall and
your thoughts as you fall asleep and then the same
again, the next day, and the next, sans everything,
sans fin, but you, where are you but at the centre of
this world that has shrunk, and yet so distant
This poem appeared in the Pangolin Review, Poetry on the Sofa and Write where we are now in March/April 2020
Sit tibi terra levis
The game now is which car has moved
from the parking lot and why has it moved and when,
and are they an essential worker, and does she vacuum the car
every weekend because she is essential and destresses, and who
is wearing one and who not, for this is the difference between life and agony
if not death, so we all avoid each other even more than before, which is a good cause
for those who believe in any cause worth living for obviously, so the earth does not rest lightly on us, not yet
Poems written in France, during the lockdown in March 2020. They are mainly written from the viewpoint of my window and the activity in the small block of flats I live in.
Photo: Dino Ignani
Latest poetry collection : Traversi (English-Italian, Samuele Editore). Editor/translator of The Parley Tree, Poets from French-speaking Africa and the Arab World (Arc Publications). Founding member of transnational literary agency Linguafranca.