2/3 Weeks (A View of Puffin Island)

20 04 2014



The decision to discuss you is the decision

to keep you. The pronoun grows between them

as they sit on the bed, legs dangling, toes

not touching the floor.


He nods, she smiles. A bubble forms on her lip.

She squeezes his hand, he thinks.

While he heaps sugar into the mugs,

she calls out facts as she reads them:

a sesame seed, the tip of ballpoint pen.

The weight of a goosebump.

The width of a tremble.


You are the calm channel

between the lighthouse and the island.

where electric shoals, and pods of energy,

are serene and frenzied.




6 responses

9 05 2014
Julie Edwards

All different. All full of life and living. People in the making. And well worth pause for thought.

10 05 2014

That comment is like a poem in itself! Thanks.

24 05 2014

nicely done…

24 05 2014

Thanks. I had a look at your site – it’s heavy and really interesting.

11 06 2014
john todaro

A poem that will linger for a few hours, especially so because of its four facts.

11 06 2014

I think I adapted the statistics so don’t quote me as verbatim! The last one, particularly, depends on the tremble. Mine that day were memorably jittery.

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