Longmarsh
Mine, this river where I’m drawn
to silence the mind’s hum,
where words sink into water,
forget to leave ripples,
where I come to salt my hurt,
learn loss from the reeds in the shallows,
where the mudflats remember your voice,
the gestures of your hands;
but today it’s splashed apart,
broken by dig and pull of paddle,
bark of staccato cox,
perspiring, toothgritting rowers
powering backwards,
looking at what they’ve put behind.
I choose the other view,
south to the sea, around
a marshy water meadow,
heron haunt, seal hunting-ground;
a way I haven’t ventured yet,
the way I’m walking now.
Page(s) 33
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