G.

You can often catch me
in darkest recesses of memory
swimming off the Welsh coast
with pseudo-siblings who almost loved me

Forgotten swim clothes, a peninsula
heart-shaped fields through
rose-tinted glasses

A two week stretch
stranded without friends
but the freedom to grow and change

There were darker days, still
when I’d rather be invisible
than half-drowned and bruised

200 miles from home
grateful to be off that dirt floor
til next year, I suppose
when I’d go back for more

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3 Comments

Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “G.

  1. “200 miles from home
    grateful to be off that dirt floor
    til next year, I suppose
    when I’d go back for more”

    Brutal. And well written.

  2. Compelling…I don’t pretend to always understand yet your words always draw me in.

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