Walk to Rome - Lucy Hurst
i watch her move so effortlessly;
breaking down my polite restraint
with an innocence self-forged and determined.
we set out to walk the river till we hit the ring road;
i’ve found part of me here, she tells me,
& how she found the rest on her walk to Rome.
she spills a collection of edible words:
pissing in fields
industry in collapse.
in her speaking, i become aware of our kindnesses
as a thing beaten into the both of us;
our strength as a side effect of brutality.
the river tells me to stay near it a little longer,
it also tells me that those who cannot swim, drown.
neither are viable options.
in the small hours,
i am passed from the doctor’s hands
into my mother’s
back & forth,
& so forth.
the water gestures at me & i learn what it means to be disabled in nature.
i’ve never been a slave to my body,
i’m a slave to much more menial things:
there’s an ethical code of conduct to hurting around others;
it seems wrong to say, wrong to do.
sufferings are halved when shared,
& love is always doubled.
if god were to hide it’s heaven anywhere,
here would be a good place to start.
if this is a part of you,
i want to submerge myself in your waters
& slosh about in your mind.
these things are all far greater than i will ever be,
& the pain that resides into me neatly
must be smaller.
Lucy is 22, based in Lincolnshire, and currently studying for
her MA in Creative Writing at YSJ.