I don’t break a mirror, pick the clear thorns
from the sink, this time I don’t take the car keys,
and the neighbours won’t hear us, because this
time I tear up and re-join the maps instead,
and am redrafting the territories again, tonight.
You ask if we should make these boroughs ours,
streets that detail the marbled thighs of hillsides,
that are spilling out as the map lets them go
like stuffing from a bad pillow, bought too cheaply.
The A-roads too are being lost beneath an argument
of latitudinal lines, and again the parish of black and
red, the lines of the danger zone, the firing range:
this is my fear. Gather them up, sweetheart.
Put the Great Central back and redraw our borders.
This new map says what happened, tells why.
and the land west of here doesn’t apologise.
Jane Commane was born in Coventry and lives and works in Warwickshire. Her poems have been published in Tears in the Fence, And Other Poems, The Morning Star, Iota and Anon and collected in Best British Poetry 2011 and Lung Jazz: Young British Poets for Oxfam. She is editor at Nine Arches Press and co-editor at Under the Radar magazine, and also a creative-writing tutor who has taught workshops in an array of unusual places, from museums and walled gardens to castles and riverbanks.