Helen Lowe's Blog, page 96

Tuesday Poetry: “from the hill”

from the hill

boats turn
at their moorings,
facing into the wind:

I can see every
shift in the weather
from up here,
she says, standing
at my shoulder —
the boats better
than any
weathervane…

we take our tea
out, onto a deck
made of timber
from old hulks
dredged out
of harbour mud,
she speaks
of the home to
which she does
not return, of the
much younger man
who will not let
her go — nor she him —
turns again to watch
the boats, talks
of a change
in the wind.

(c) Helen Lowe

First published in...

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