Black sand in between bony toes. A kestrel circling the bay. My own nakedness against the wave. How it slapped my shoulder hard. A boy with a toy gun, another
with a stone. Him reading on the shore. Crying quietly in the back of the
car, to a folk tune I’d usually skip over. Chairlifts – how we flew
across treetops, descending the cliff.
A rock: blood on my
thigh, purple dashes on both palms. Not caring how I looked in a
bikini. Surf like gnashing teeth. Doggy paddling over
rocks. Staring down at seaweed, salt stinging my left eye. Forgetting my age. Shadows cast from a stone, how it
blocked the sun. The darkness inside the cave gobbling me up. Taking terrible photographs. A Fab ice lolly. Salt on my lips all day.
Imagining a person sea-swimming until their breath ran out, and wondering if, one day, that person might be me. Light blinding me, my from-the-sales Gap sunglasses too loose. A tall cross dedicated to a poet. Cuts and ear infections. Gashes. Wounds. Hitchhiking to Newport. Clotted cream scones and Assam. A blown out tyre. Darkness. Headlights. Cocteau Twins on my headphones.
Imagining a person sea-swimming until their breath ran out, and wondering if, one day, that person might be me. Light blinding me, my from-the-sales Gap sunglasses too loose. A tall cross dedicated to a poet. Cuts and ear infections. Gashes. Wounds. Hitchhiking to Newport. Clotted cream scones and Assam. A blown out tyre. Darkness. Headlights. Cocteau Twins on my headphones.
Top photo: courtesy Olivia Laing
