Wednesday, 29 January 2020

Driftwood by Stewart Carswell

Driftwood was washed ashore
shortly after the break-up:
rope, lobster pots,
some wood from a frame,

all scattered along the shoreline.
Months later,
the waves returned a plank
on the morning high tide
intact, immaculate.
In white letters on blue
was painted a name
I’d begun to forget,
a name that should not resurface:

white letters on blue
like the crest of a wave
at the moment of breaking.


Stewart Carswell is from the Forest of Dean and currently lives in Cambridgeshire, where he helps to organise the Fen Speak open mic night. His poems have been published in Envoi, Ink Sweat & Tears, Algebra of Owls, and The Fenland Reed. His debut pamphlet is Knots and branches (Eyewear, 2016).


No comments:

Post a Comment

By the Boathouse by Miki Byrne

(Port Elliot. St Germans. Cornwall.) The boathouse settles into the bank like an old man in a favourite chair.  Same slumped shoulde...