A coiled slack of tide, crowning

as ripened fruit, pressed from its skin

the eldest

drags a finger through foamy twigs

to make wake reverse. Thumbs her phone, secret

little grin, legs overboard, school sandal lapping up a salty stain

The youngest waits, curled in the greasy bow,

mesmerised by

the unbroken sky

the feel of leg hairs

fluttering, prick up, the cold

seeping into her skirt

as the afternoon heat sweeps

into the shadows

they are drifting

beyond the bleached reeds

a league away from guppies now

Catherine Trundle

 

Catherine Trundle is an anthropologist, writer, mother, and university lecturer based in Wellington, New Zealand. She enjoys writing poetry, flash fiction and experimental ethnography.

© 2018