Poetry

Old harbour

We listened to the barnacles and stood 
in the shallows, clinging to their salty whispers.
I tugged my jeans up and over tired knees,
the wet denim was cold against my skin. 

A lighthouse winked from the horizon
and you asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.
The waves laughed and choked;
you couldn’t hear my answer.
There was so much air.

You waltzed with the light in the surf
and traced our names in the sand.
I tried to pick up a piece of that afternoon,
to wrap it up in damp seaweed
and give to you when you asked again. 

Matilda Webb