Poetry

Forgotten

I went to see the fishes at the bottom
of grandpa’s garden,
prodding, examining curiously with a twig
flickering flashing amber lights
as I disturbed their home –
a deep, mysterious potion of murky
green syrup, I stirred
my cauldron with my witch’s stick
and there it was.
floating, rising from the deep forgotten
that fish skeleton like matchsticks
delicately draped in decaying
rotten flesh, robbed
of its golden, pearly shine
like the others.
it stares at me with its hollow devil-eye
a Greek theatre mask for its disturbed,
sad expression
desperate not to be
forgotten 

Charlotte Luxford