In the darkness

of your words one February night,

you seemed to revel in my misfortune

oh dear woman

of Norfolk broad;

a scathing attack with borrowed fire

and from out of nowhere personal confrontation.

It was in that moment that I thank you

for being so mean, so

unpleasant as you tried to shame me

about finding solitude in the shadow

and the trace of ghostly human light,

your insult and insinuation

that blackness doesn’t exist

and that misery is a state of mind,

made me realise, finally,

of how much better off I am without you.

Ian D. Hall 2018