its a tidal river,

the sea water comes in to the bridge,

where they used to build boats.

the river full and still, mid flow,

i watched and looked early,

i noted the sheep tracks where we run,

parallel.

‘don’t jump’, he said, as if i would,

the grave digger, grinning,

‘ happy new year’

and the same to you, angel.

5 years ago,

i may have jumped,

after you buried him.

its those like you,

that see the beauty of the river,

where the seal comes to play,

and the tide goes up to the bridge.

so we laugh and wave,

and go on our way

up to the bridge.

sbm.

* featured in ‘Estuary’ a confluence of art and poetry.

Edited by Agnes Marton and Harriette Lawler.

Saboteur Award in the Best Mixed Anthology category