Whitby

Seven years later: I'm back here again.

Is this the same town that I cherished before?

Is this the same sand? Is this the same shore

Where I danced to the pulse of the waves?

The silver framed photos are all that I have

To bind me to this quiet beach

But the pictured sand has left the land

The grains of me lost to the sea—

Before the hoping doting groping

Chocking with hurt

Feel like filth

Feel like dirt

Dad calling me ‘sod’ and carpet burns

And yellow paper fantasies—

Clifftop graveyard,

Ruined abbey,

New-sand seashore,

Nothing stays.

Pirate golf course,

Cliff-lift eyesore,

Salt-smell, seagulls,

They remain—

The grey sea claims me

Lately, they say

Insides echo,

Hollow, let go,

Touch me, tell me

I could matter;

Break me, fell me,

Idle patter;

Feed me, lead me

Back, back—

It rained so we stayed inside the car

And swallowed chicken sandwiches

The windows steaming

Dreaming

I would

Never leave there

Breath in

Leaving—

My Whitby where did you go?

The waves beat on while I was home.

Repeated breakers

Shape us

Make us

Longshore drift

Shall dislocate us.

I tried to dance with two left feet,

But quickly stumbled out of time.

The waves beat on, the tide encroached,

My loved ones said it would be fine.

So Whitby: home of vampires

And Goths and jet-based jewellery.

All I recall is that I loved

Those gentle memories truly.

So love me, Whitby, though I may

Have known the taste of failure.

I’ll find my head, then I’ll return

If you can’t be my saviour.

The sea is always calmest in

The space between the waves.

I’ll never leave that steamed-up car

The wind won’t bite my face.

The abbey perfect once again,

The seagull in mid-flight,

And there I’ll be;

The static sea

Will not know day nor night

My Whitby and Whitby's me

Together for all time.

Find me beneath the whale bone arch

A child again: alive.