by Rosie Johnston

Sapphires in a hurry-flutter:

two dozen starlings

rush to Sheppey.

 

Seaweed garlands roll on the high

tide, full

moon’s tangle of jet and jade.

 

The sea cradles me; my

best mother.

I roll and kick like a baby.

 

Ripples brush your naked shoulder,

a sibilance,

a sparrow’s whisper.

 

My skin, dulled under hospital lights,

exults

in blustery sunshine.

 

Twilight wraps blankets of

crimson glory

around this evening’s shoulders.

 

Sky is honeyed mango slivers,

dark rum-soaked,

with pomegranate seeds.

 

Laughter waltzes with garlic prawns,

jives with olives,

pirouettes with wine.

 

Between the bowls and candlelight

stretch moments

of perfect contentment.

 

Low tide takes its muted leave –

soft pools

marooned while oystercatchers play.

 

Whitstable, harbour of tangible

happiness:

peace glides into dock.

 

Where sea and sky merge in a

thousand pinks

aligns the mind’s horizon.

 

This fresh day. Let’s shuck it

open, feel

gusto pour between our fingers.

 

I read this in Harbour Books, Whitstable at our first Words on Waves event last month. It’s had such lovely feedback that it’s here for you to enjoy too.

We’re meeting again tonight at 6.45pm.

Happy writing!