The elderly I visited
at the care home near my school
slowly turned into an island.
Months became sand, white bedsheets
frothy surf. Nurses abandoned
their jobs and wandered amongst
the new landscapes like gulls
and oystercatchers looking for prey.
I walked along the shore, collecting
shells that I hadn’t seen before.
Holding one to my ear, I heard a song
that had always been tucked away.
About the author:
I am currently working as a writer in London, UK. My work has appeared in The Emerson Review, The Kenyon Review and elsewhere.
Now this is a good poem.
Nice, Word Riot. You finally hit one.