Cringey writing
Beach
I remember when we went to the beach that day. It was winter and instead of a mad dash to the water, screaming as as we kicked up burning sand, we turned and walked parallel to the waves.
The beach is different in winter. Instead of hot blue and warm yellow there is instead a pastel stretch of pale sand leading to a distant vision of headlands seen through salty mists that fill your nose with the promise of oysters.
Water
Oh we missed the water, missed the way it would hammer on the roof in a metallic greeting. Missed the little rivers running in the corrugations and flying off the edge in triumph. When you opened your mouth to it, it tasted like rust and earth. It was good.
There were days once when you could dive into a pool of water, feel its cool kiss wrap around your body like a deep green come to life. In the water you could keep a secret, or hide one if you wished.
But what we have now is the absence of water, of cracks opening across the earth, across our faces, as the air shimmers hot.. almost as if it is underwater.
Mother
She is a wisp, a ghostly figure I cannot touch. From her hands drop coins and stuffed animals, yet I cannot see her face. She is two pale legs, a long skirt, a black cloud of hair, and a sharp voice.
Mother is always right. She hands me a stuffed bear and tells me to hug it, but it’s her lap I want, her lap and the removal of the distance between us.
Why is her face a blur, and why is she walking away? Mother. She is a grey wisp, growing ever smaller as she leaves me behind.
I remember when we went to the beach that day. It was winter and instead of a mad dash to the water, screaming as as we kicked up burning sand, we turned and walked parallel to the waves.
The beach is different in winter. Instead of hot blue and warm yellow there is instead a pastel stretch of pale sand leading to a distant vision of headlands seen through salty mists that fill your nose with the promise of oysters.
Water
Oh we missed the water, missed the way it would hammer on the roof in a metallic greeting. Missed the little rivers running in the corrugations and flying off the edge in triumph. When you opened your mouth to it, it tasted like rust and earth. It was good.
There were days once when you could dive into a pool of water, feel its cool kiss wrap around your body like a deep green come to life. In the water you could keep a secret, or hide one if you wished.
But what we have now is the absence of water, of cracks opening across the earth, across our faces, as the air shimmers hot.. almost as if it is underwater.
Mother
She is a wisp, a ghostly figure I cannot touch. From her hands drop coins and stuffed animals, yet I cannot see her face. She is two pale legs, a long skirt, a black cloud of hair, and a sharp voice.
Mother is always right. She hands me a stuffed bear and tells me to hug it, but it’s her lap I want, her lap and the removal of the distance between us.
Why is her face a blur, and why is she walking away? Mother. She is a grey wisp, growing ever smaller as she leaves me behind.
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