I’ve savoured the feel of cement on my heels
and water sipped slowly. I’ve lingered– O
I can linger– but still I’ve lost summer
again and again, the wet-pressed thick
and humid nights, the faces gone vague.
Dear friend. Dear home.
Dear sitting out back
complaining of cicadas,
heat and blackberries
staining our clothes. You
are burnt wick now. You
are fade-dank and yet
you were so startling then,
so past now, your face
lost in the loam summer dark, you
a low voice stitching the cicadas for chirring
all damn blistering blackberry night.
Shawn Bodden is working towards an International Masters in Russian, Central and Eastern European Studies at the University of Glasgow. He says, 'Though from the US, Glasgow’s home now. I tend to write poems. I tend to study Eastern Europe. I tend to wear shoes. So what: nobody’s perfect.'