Nicene #2 Canning Town
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Canning Town: Where Do I Belong?
Maker of Heaven and Earth
——
Jay is thirty.
Every morning,
on the way to work,
he passes the cranes.
Glass towers rise above the docks.
The billboards promise
riverside living.
Luxury apartments
from £750,000.
He laughs every time he sees them.
Not because it is funny.
Because
he still sleeps
in the room
where he slept
as a child.
His mum has the room
across the landing.
His sister,
who needs support,
has the box room.
The waiting list stretches on.
The rents climb higher.
The city keeps
building homes
for other people.
Most of the lads
he grew up with
have moved away.
Essex.
Kent.
Anywhere with a chance
of affording a future.
One lunchtime,
Jay stopped at a convenience store.
A man in a suit
hurried through the door ahead of him.
The woman behind him
was pushing a wheelchair.
The door swung shut.
The man kept walking.
Jay caught the handle
before it closed.
The woman smiled.
The lad in the chair smiled too.
A small thing.
Yet it stayed with him all day.
The old pubs are closing too.
One by one.
Places where people gathered,
argued,
laughed,
watched football,
and mourned their losses.
The boxing club remains.
One of the few places left
where community still feels real.
That is where he met Abdi.
Years ago.
Gloves on.
Guard up.
Learning how to take a punch.
Abdi’s family came from Somalia.
Now his mum knows Jay’s mum.
His sister knows Jay’s sister.
Their lives are woven together
in a hundred ordinary ways.
One Saturday,
coming back from work,
Jay passed a demonstration
in Trafalgar Square.
Flags.
Placards.
People talking about taking Britain back.
About making Britain Christian again.
Part of him understood.
Something had been lost.
Anyone could see that.
Yet he found himself
thinking of Abdi.
The thought of sending boats back
made no sense to him.
Not when friendship
had already crossed the borders
people argued about.
The more he listened,
the more it seemed
that everyone was homesick.
Only speaking different languages
to describe the ache.
Then came the breakdown.
The panic attacks.
The sleepless nights.
One afternoon,
a few years back,
walking nowhere in particular,
he stepped into a church.
Not because he believed.
Because he was tired.
The building was quiet.
A few candles burned.
Someone read the Creed.
Maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is,
seen and unseen.
The words stayed with him.
Lately,
standing beside the Thames,
he watches the tide moving east.
Containers stand stacked
along the docks.
Glass towers catch
the evening light.
Above them,
a skein of geese
crosses the sky.
For a moment,
the city seems larger
than itself.
The river.
The wind.
The cranes.
The clouds gathering
over Canary Wharf.
Everything held within something
he could not name.
Maker of heaven and earth.
The words sounded different now.
Less like an idea.
More like an address.
That the river belonged.
That the sky belonged.
That Abdi belonged.
That his mum belonged.
That his sister belonged.
And perhaps,
despite everything,
he belonged too.
The cranes still stand above the docks.
The waiting list remains.
The rents remain.
Yet somewhere beyond the traffic,
the river keeps its ancient rhythm.
The tide comes in.
The tide goes out.
And for a moment,
standing between river and sky,
Jay wonders
if heaven has been looking for earth
all along.
Rev’d Jon Swales
Nicene #2
Drawing inspiration for this poem from the interview with Fr John Armitage on Leaving Egypt podcast Ep.64
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