Evening, Sandwich Bay

 

sandwich bay

 

Returning to the whispers of the tide,

Displacing sand and stones, I trundle down.

Silt scatters underfoot. The salty reeds

Thirst at my shins,

 

Scrape my bare legs. The air is vaster here,

I cannot say: it’s wider than a gasp,

Fresher than sky. At the indigo hour,

The cool expanse

 

Returns me with the whispers of the tide:

Displaced like sand and silt beneath my shins,

Scattered among the salt and thirsting reeds,

I trundle down.

 

 

I have very fond memories of Sandwich Bay, in Kent, from my childhood right up to the present day. I hoped to invoke, through rhythm and sibilance, the motion of descending the bank of shells and stones, pebbles and sand, to reach the widening shore at low tide one evening. 

Advertisements