CAMBERWELL
Camberwell.
Take me down to Camberwell where once they cured the ill.
By the pond in South London where they took the ones unwell.
Sit beside me in the grass if it be dry or damp by rain.
Hold my hand and promise me a silence and one refrain.
Take me down to Camberwell where once they brought the sick.
To South London all her mad would flock to water in the sticks.
Lay beside me in the shade and look upon the sky.
Nudge my shoulder, laugh at me when I’m overwhelmed & sigh.
Take me down to Camberwell where I know you have your home.
By the village near Herne Hill where you thought I was once in town.
I will be in town.
I write this after a dream of being with a lost friendship in the woods.
I write this after a dream of being bothered by men in New York.
Take me down to Camberwell so I’ll have a place to visit in my mind.
By the place in South London, you know, where lepers went to unwind.
Kick back with me upon the Earth where all the British sick did go.
Just a short shift on my quick trip, to cure me of this —-
© Sylvie Hill 2013
ophelia by Marek Fijalkowski
