(An International Journal of Poetry)
ISSN 2249 –2178
Volume-3 DECEMBER -2013 Number-2
by Sara-Mae Tuson
the drift and draft, that current
which drove the revenants away,
those who never really had a place in this utopia.
the mellifluous ocean that carries our hearts,
fills up our bellies.
we were the driftwood,
surviving our ancestor’s colonising instincts,
but we did not survive ourselves.
we took our special dispensation
staying in a cottage on Cape Point.
the tip so untouched, we plucked mussels from the sea.
we wore our privilege easily.
our youth hung about us, most particularly
Gary, hoping to impress Laura.
the beach untouched – bland,
the scene to this imprinted memory,
swathes of clean, white sand.
into the ocean: Gary, Steve.
screaming, we saw from the shore
the jutting tusks of small sharks.
but they stayed in, each daring the other,
while we watched,
calling out when cresting fins came too close.
we belonged to no-one and not a thing belonged to us.