Guest Poem: Trebarwith Strands

Remember Skeletons at Midnight? It was for my multi-talented friend Anita, whose wonderful poetry inspired me to write my own. As I am offline for a bit while on holiday, she has very kindly provided a guest poem which she wrote in answer to Stay at Home. Enjoy!

Trebarwith Strands

I pack myself away
As I turn off
My phone.
Then, spilling out into field and sky.
We unstitch,
We undo.

The sea salt air
Whispers between us,
Cleans us,
Of the arguments that live
In houses.

An illness, mild and barely there,
Anchors us to canvas, in place.
We hear the wind, we see the moon
We talk of the wind, and we talk of the moon.

The tight threads of us unravel.
Our strands, loose, in the wind,
Weave new patterns between us.

In the day, the boys grow, faster.
They run and run, until there is no
More field.
Then sit, precariously, on gates
And talk to cows.
In the evening, they wonder at
Clouds, spread with a knife across
Blazing skies.

The sea salt waves
Wash between us,
Freeing us,
From the time that lives
In houses.

Illness keeps us small;
We take idle walks.
We make tiny trips.
We keep little company.
We make miniature meals of fudge and cream.

For a whole week I am lost.
There is no signal here,
No way to be found,
No fragments to update.
I forward roll, I play bat and ball,
I sit and watch the boys play.
I see them,
Their strands, loose in the wind,
Weaving new patterns.

At night, I listen
As the wind, gently,
Tugs at the threads of the tent.
My strands unravel, but
I am not lost.
Just re-connected.
Re-stitched.
Home.

trebarwithsands
Anita is a freelance artist/writer/mum/tutor depending what day/time/event it is. She lives a precarious life trying to balance all of them, but still finds time to sell things on eBay to fund her handbag addiction collection. www.anitawadsworth.co.uk

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