Heavy as mucus, we congregate
In a place devised for sadness;
Our collective grief is an ache, a beautiful burden
But somewhere within this weighty pall
Is a dank and screaming void.
The roller arrives, all mirrored steel and gravity
Its bulk reflecting the metallic millstone we all bear.
The hush is aquatic; the slow motion, submarine approach to
A recent accident.
Doors open to the last journey through daylight, pushing through the stagnation.
Land locked in an amphibious silence,
Whilst we ponder,
That out of the casement we swim, until
boxed up again, they submerge us.
All filter through.
Shoals of us sit
Weeping like wounds, gouged out like limpets
In our subterranean, salty fog.
We should be kicking for the surface
But many of us just want to sink,
Like the shipwrecked crew we are.
© Holly Boyden 2011