Saturday 5 May 2018

More Qit’a by Sheila Ash

The past with all its tortuous turns
lies rooted at this edge, where time
hems future’s folds
unseen beyond today’s precipice.
Her carer thinks it is just a stone
gathering dust up on the shelf

Not cherished key to moisten memories
of windswept love on Beadnell Bay
Red rust dust clings like the Sahara in luggage;
as childhood dreams of Martian Adventures;
to the unused tools in his silent shed.

© Sheila Ash

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