We knew poems before
we’d read them
sucking them into our breaths
with the salt from the sandy lake flats
feeling their warmth steam from the wooden
boards of the deck.
Our voices were those of wolves
howling slithers of jazz
as we jumped into the water
letting its cold ripples lick us and swallow us
spitting us back from the murk as flying fish
wheeling against the sky –
we were not metaphors.
We became.
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“I’m writing to try to slow the spin of my thoughts and to shape them into something understandable. I’m a working mum and live in London. with my husband, our two children and two very mischievous cats.” – the poet
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