Pencilled deep on driftwood
down where the tide
draws a line, as stencils
on sheep pens, as vegetables
on blackboards, as spelling lists
on cardboard in blue felt tip.
My. Like. Can. Mary.
Each word its own laboured tick
and under and small: Noah 6.
and where will you go with
these beauties, child,
these restless arks, these rocket
How will my
possess you? How many likes
will you favour? And can,
will it do? What aspect of Mary
will there be in your nature, too,
not yet adrift on that splashing water, but
attached by paper and pencil, by finger
and thumb, by wrist and elbow, by
shoulder and head, by head and brain,
by lung and leg and ankle and shoe, to
words of one syllable, and other
simplicities like bikes and pets. Except
for Mary, of all names.
Strange to see it keeping company
here, more adjective than noun.
The things you find on the beach that get you thinking... Tuesday Poem hub this week hosts Dinah Hawken's Hope selected by Keith Westwater. Do click on the quill in the sidebar to visit or click here www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com.