Saturday, August 27, 2011


Second entry for the West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Contest:

Floorboards creak beneath my feet.
Darkness edges off this scene.

Bit by bit I see
ever-blue skies, pregnant,
piers painted then weathered
gray, ragged
boards that quiver when the sky
churns, sloshes,

You and I squeal like children,
put possessions overhead
between the air of river
and our painted faces.
We tap-dance-scramble to
the unwavering, brave beacon,
the curved café with walls of
glass, and steel.

Inside, water drips
down our noses.
I peel off my pea coat,
the faded sweater duster.
Remove the patchwork hat,
the shaded scarf
You lose clothing,

We sit across, exposed
staring at the meeting of sea and sky
old lovers
pricked by bitter endings,
dizzy one more time.

There was rosehip tea
and fruited cake.
We pretended to be
anything but two college kids
with barely a quid and
no borders.

There was a rainbow, after;
dome connecting coasts
separating sky and sea;
one sighed and the other mourned quietly.

That’s as close to home as I’ve ever been.

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