Unpack the colours, sounds, and sheets that make a home.
Start with red, closest to fury. Let fingers swim in the blood that’s here, memories of every man, box-camera pics of skinned knees and body-ease. Lipsticks, clumped, made from the same powdered beetles that roam vacant minds, unused for months – more trouble than they’re worth.
Blue is spilling from somewhere – there one minute, not there before – from bruises and poor circulation, from Granny’s calf and mascara – more trouble than they’re worth.
Yellows are tickets on the sky, promising bargains, old men who can’t leave the Thunderbird alone in the mornings, who stumble into pews in sunlight through cold clouds of ammonia and old glass.
Only one sound to find a place for, sob mixed with sigh. Wrap it in the best bedlinen, tie the sheets in knots.
Meet the Poet
Matt Nicholson is a poet and performer from Yorkshire’s East Riding, in the cultural glare from the City of Hull. He is widely published and commissioned, most recently By The Humber Mouth Festival, and has performed all over the UK. He writes poems that are sometimes dark and sinister, sometimes tender and moving, but always very honest.
