by Vicky Kleanthous
To you a girl flitting
Down some promenade
She rides her bike while
Gears rust beneath.
Past that yellow house
Wilted, stilted through years, but less supported now.
Lemons and apricots pucker from the edges
And the gulls don’t look.
Every brick a little too far gone
Leaves gapes and crevices where the sea seeps in.
To her the house is still solid
Where it remains.
Salt and age spewing onto
That promenade, curl wood from wood
And then dust to dust.
To her, though the planks are not warped,
Trundling as she does across every timber wound.
Was it the heel that pierced
That has left this wood chipped?
The gouges cannot all be hers?
And her lengths of golden nets floating behind
Let her catch slip away
Into a mermaid’s trove,
Some other golden hair.
As if to keep it so sweet.
- A number of talented Huntington School year 10 students took part in a one-day writing workshop – and YorkMix is delighted to be the first to publish their work
- To find out more about the creative writing workshop, and to read the other students’ work, click here