I want to run outside
And grab handfuls of dust
And pour them into your lap, pour them.
I want to explain that these
Are my doubts
And how I lose them when the wind blows.
But they always come back, muddled.
And I’m not blaming you except
It never happened before.
The raspberries are out and
I have pips in my teeth.
Sarah Hulme is a Durham University graduate who enjoys writing poetry as a way to understand thoughts, feelings and the world we live in.
(Pinjarra, the saltwater crocodile at Melbourne Sea Life Aquarium)
we came into the world in the same year
you
chased out of a shell
and into the muddle of mud and mangrove
me
snipped slapped weighed and wrapped
for you
it was crocodile breath the press of a mother’s teeth
and the first flush of river
for me
it was the touch of fabrics voices the breath
of last adult meals and afternoon light
perhaps we were born on the same day
same moment to be axis points on a globe
you
with your long leathered face
silent hunger and cold blood in brackish water
me
with my green bones and jellyfish flesh turning
towards cathedral bells beyond the walls of the room
we are each sixty five years old separated by glass
along the way we’ve made mistakes
you
for being in the wrong place after a flood
for becoming stranded on a Queensland farm
me
how long have you got
now look at us
Graham Burchell lives in South Devon. He has four published collections. He has an M.A. in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University. He is a Hawthornden Fellow, 2012 Canterbury Festival Poet of the Year, winner of the 2015 Stanza competition, and runner-up in the 2016 BBC Proms poetry competition.
Foxglove Journal 