Leith Dawn

I found this metro ticket as I was doing the washing and it reminded me of this poem. A couple of years ago I was in Leith visiting friends and I was very unhappy. I got up one morning and wrote this poem on the back of a flyer. Then I carried the flyer round with me for two years in a little notebook, even thought I'd copied the poem into the notebook when I arrived home. The flyer just seemed very poignant and I really loved it. About a month ago I was in Newcastle with the little notebook (I'm now using it all the time) and when I got home, I realised that my flyer had disappeared - it must have dropped out onto the floor of some cafe or shop. I was quite upset - I felt as if I'd abandoned one of my children in Newcastle. And worst of all, whoever found it probably just put it straight in the bin.
This is one of four poems I had written before this September, when I decided to really start writing.


The seagulls shriek like pterodactyls
as the sleeping house lies still.
I watch the somnambulent dog walker
trace his well worn path,
as the city stretches its arms
and blinks at the day.

Once again I am an empty shell,
a blown egg filled with black ink,
a restless and inadequate vessel,
a house of fallen cards,
boring myself with my own misery.
I sit in your charming house,
quirky and dishevelled,
full of little signs of love,
and I want to weep at my own loneliness.