Monday, 21 April 2014

A poem by Susan Taylor


Time Lapse

I want these words to be nails.
No, not spikes hammered home
with swear-to-god points at the end
and cute trite titles at the top,

but flesh pink ones, delicately striated,
with ivory appearing along the edges.
See me – picking such perfect shells;
named in Latin, I gather, Moerella Pygmaea.

How they’re becoming wet new baby’s nails,
borne out of the golden bed of Anderby sand.
How I’m splashing through warm puddles
to show Mum and Dad  treasure;

the glee running to the tips of my limbs
mirrored in their eyes.



Susan Taylor’s most recent collection is A Small Wave For Your Form from Oversteps Books. She is a Dartmoor dweller, who is currently working in the heart of Totnes at Rhythm and Light (a crystal  and ethnic musical instrument shop in The Butterwalk.)

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