War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

little corner of England (3)

we slid, rappelled cliffs, red clay, Otter sandstone
left by braided river, left by desert in retreat 400 million years ago,
my Blunstones clumped, my body wedded to a caked rope, gravity;

all day we walked, my sister and I, the roll top strand
the ocean’s pink iron foam, England’s green summer poured,
along the shore we picked agates and milky stones shot with wounded red;

the boy in camo running for his train, his helmet & frag, triggered you, in me a pang,
all day I thought how by chance we met up again, home from Afghanistan,
fractured, walking dead, deserted, I held you close, summer, autumn, long winter

until your desert began to erode, O I held you so damned close,
so tall, so duty driven, at 5 am you kissed me, set me on this English road,
now I am milky stone shot with red, rolling, rolling on the pebble beds, this English coast.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled little corner of England (3). It was posted here on June 24, 2011.


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