I’d never heard of the poet before Monday.

And then I left the TV on too late and I saw her.

And then I was gifted a ticket and I saw her.

And I was gifted another ticket and I saw her.

And I heard her and I felt her and I pulled her words into the marrow of me,

to the place I’ve been trying to wake

with mountain hikes and parachutes and trips abroad with American women

and bad poetry.

And here I am, no shame, no little white pills, no

bottles of wine or outrageous behaviour.

Here I am

in the swarm of bodies and ideas

on a wharf

with my peppermint tea

feeling better than I’ve felt in years.