St. Mary's Bay

We have brought the walk down

to the beach, you have brought

a plastic bag, and we slow in

the open, I follow your eyes

searching hands following, we stoop

to pick the threads and beads

of oil, bright eyes in sea hair, you

unravel them, empty them

under your protection, this safe act

among infinite safe acts, a useless

kindness - as kindnesses must be -

before a crashing indifference. You

point to the earth crumbling

towards it: it will come through

us, blue-threaded earth

crumbling back into the crashing blue,

two watchers, waders, pickers, two

small faces peering up from their nets,

one showing the other

this one small blue

act of Love.

Reviews

[John Alexander McFadyen]

I can smell the briney sea and feel the wind tugging at my kagoule as grey waves, topped with squirty cream rise and flop upon the sand in thunderous symphonies. You bring the fishermen going about their day to life and the emotions are muted colours as if so very ordinary.