Fossils
We would walk in the shingle
The wind blowing our hair like a malevolent spirit
salt in our eyes and lips dry
You showed me how to push the stones with one hand like a wave
first up
then down
to reveal the sharks teeth
fossils.
Once I found a meteorite
I held it in my wet glove mottled with sand and grit,
a treasure.
Seaweed sat in dark knotted clumps.
When the sun broke through the clouds
and shone gold beams onto the water
I remembered religious paintings
I had seen on our holidays in France.
The ancient dry hollow taste of the churches
had the same sweetness
as the wooden box on top of the fireplace
where you kept our relics from the beach.
I remember the cuts on your feet
when you waded out to retrieve me from a rock as the tide was coming in,
And the ever changing colours of the sky
with the rolling clouds
and endless horizon
blue like our veins
blue like the fishing nets
as blue as our lips
when we ran dripping from the sea.
(first published by the New River Press 2018)
