Friday, 26 February 2016


Painting by Rebecca Belmore

You and I wait for a boat.
We do not know where we are going and neither does anyone else.
The water is cold you say, a treachery for blood,
stand  and dive  into   broken stars of floating  wreckage, 
 following those who have jumped before;
a woman and a child holding hands, a family.
You say nothing, as if goodbye has already been said.

A baby sinks,  orange life-vests blossom.  
From the  edge  of the jetty, you watch a  silence more  cruel than winter.
Ice grips my legs, my head bobs, eyes frost. 
Something draws me down.
 You know what it is – not a bitter sea – its gelid flesh, 
but the turning of a back.

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