| Poetry |
Tides
oh Jesus, it's happened again.
I'm walking on the beach
in Swansea.
It's beautiful today,
only a few clouds,
and there's sunshine!
No really, there was,
I'm not making it up.
Up close to the water,
a figure in jeans
and a navy hoodie,
kicking around the shells, and
occasionally,
chucking a rock a few
yards out,
splashing in the tide.
That looks like fun.
Up I go, picking a few
rocks up on the way.
The first one,
bright red.
I wonder where the different
colors come from,
what makes it red,
what makes it green,
black, gray..
I let fly…
and fly it does.
A yard or two past yours.
You looked up at me –
Good throw.
I smiled –
Lucky shot, I said.
Well, go on then,
let's see it again.
We threw rocks for another hour,
and of course,
none of mine came
anywhere close to that first one.
The sunset sat upon us,
and we left.
No mobile numbers exchanged,
nothing at all,
just a name…
and the unspoken promise that
we'd both be there again,
tomorrow,
throwing rocks.
Later, the coffee shops,
and pubs on Thursdays.
We tried the beach
daytime and night,
and always,
the rocks were there,
and we threw them.
We walked to Mumbles and back,
eating Joe's ice cream,
and when it started to rain,
we ran,
just beating the downpour.
oh Jesus. not again.
At your flat,
I fell
down hard on the stairs.
You caught me.
But then,
you were moving,
away from the tide,
away from the rocks,
pubs, and coffee shops.
The real world came calling
and you had no choice
but to answer.
You can't build
a life
on tides and sand.
But no matter what happens
I still have the image
of you
wrapped up
in nothing but my blanket.
by Jennifer Johnson
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