The Dirt of The World

I bring the dirt of the world to your doorstep
Amid the detritus, the bird sings
Emblematic of you
You, however, visit proudly my childhood home
You are welcome, but please remember
It is not nice to bring the dirt of the world
to anyone’s doorstep

The cat crosses the Yorkshire road at morning
This makes me think of a generation recovering
From war, and their sons
This European generation does not know
Here it comes, the dirt of the world to your doorstep

Remember the angel of Ypres, now I
see another in the east
He comes to your door, as you
collect the milk now
This is the dirt of the world coming
to your doorstep he says
Like blood rolling over European Hills
I did not bring this dirt, I beg you to understand

The sun is rising in the morning, and
I stand shyly on your street
The dirt of the world is coming from the west now
I see the shade of your porch and
The sunlight does not hurt my eye
My shadow does not trouble the receptive east

The Angel says the dirt means we should get
together for tea
Our community is clean, at least, I think
You and me are
While I stare at you from across the table
I know this dirt is of the world
And not of our souls

Liam Hutchinson is a poet from Bath in the United Kingdom. Outside of writing his interest lies in human rights. Read other articles by Liam.