Right now I don’t know
how to have a heart that isn’t broken.
The sea is still turning over
on Filey beach, the sandpipers are dipping
and running back. At five am
the world is distilled to my phone screen.
There’s no distance between my beach town
and your city.
A girl is letting go of her pink balloon
and running and running, on repeat.
Outside my window
a starling mimics the sound of my printer,
the cat is a puddle of black, the dog whines
in the kitchen.
A girl in a pink cowboy hat has dropped her bag
and is looking back to it, unable to tell
what is important to hold onto,
and what is not.
I message my friends, post
a status on Facebook, cry in the car,
frown at other drivers. At the traffic lights
we shake our heads in unison.
I share a link to the centre
where they ‘re taking blood to help
the survivors. This moment of hatred
has taken your blood. What can we do,
except offer our own love back,
fresh, as if from a wound.