Poetry: 'Lytham' by Katerina Neocleous


I carry the estuary -
a deadweight
of scuttled boats
among brackish puddles
and sky scudded mudflats,
far from tide and skyline.

Keel to sky I sway
on sea weary legs;
a breached hull
where the years leak
converging with salt flecked
emptiness, and no catch.


A neap tide pulls them
over rook scrub
boat graves and pale
clam beds steeped in mud
to board the long blue jetty.

Alive to the wind battering
the lifeboat station’s rig,
they quicken a resolute step
alone or hand in hand
to its flooded end.


Birds I cannot name
leave prints in the marsh,
small aimless arrows.


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