there’s no sunset in this town
the sky just grows dark
unobtrusively as if the day
can’t bring itself to believe
its departure merits fanfare
and I am not a person any more
just a name in everyone’s contact list
sitting here as the night bashfully
suffuses every room and forgetting
to switch on the light

sometimes I think I’ve lived in too many places
people always say they’d like to travel the world
but they’re assuming they’d get to choose
where they go, whereas I’m just continually
pitching up in some new location
with no idea what’s there just hoping
there will be a place that sells
my favourite kind of ice cream

when I wake up I get visions
of a place that I’ve been without
being able to remember where it is: a carpark
empty of cars and rimmed by a pinewood balcony
beneath which you’d find a tiny Korean
restaurant selling potatoes fried in brown sugar
this place definitely wasn’t in Korea
but it could be in any one of the homes
I’ve left behind

yesterday I almost bought you a card
with a message about how we’re
both still under the same sky
but actually I think we’re both
peering out at exactly opposite sides
of the universe and the reality is
you’re probably not even looking at the sky

technically everything I used to love
still exists, but all I can tell you is
this feels an awful lot like loss

Emily Adlam’s poetry has been published in collections including The Mays XIX, New Zealand Poetry Society annual collections, Re-Draft and the Oxford University Poetry Society anthology. Her debut novel was recently bought by HarperCollins Italia.

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2 Responses to Relocation

  1. q says:

    lovely piece. this is such a gentle acknowledgement of homeless love

  2. Beautifully evoked ❤️🌹

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