Cliff edge, edge of three worlds only one
of which is mine. The water’s below. Under,
around and in front is air in which birds wheel
and whirl. Seaweed waves in liquid deeps,
leafy forests I can never walk through,
leastways not while still breathing.
Pulled to edges of everything, I try
to suck it all inside me. But it’s too big,
slithers away from me. Leaning out I feel
the punch of wind that skims up cliffs.
Eyes closed, I press up on my toes my whole
self alive to the need to fall,
crash into water, clunky legs and arms
torn off in the fall, lithe as an eel. Startled,
I hear the roar of Da’s bike and draw back. Da –
grease monkey with oily hands that never
clean, deep ocean eyes that watch so close.
He fixes broken things.
Frightened, I turn and run.
Copyright © Maxine Rose Munro 2016
Maxine Rose Munro was born in the Shetland Islands and has never recovered from the culture shock she received when she moved to Glasgow. She can be found at https://www.facebook.com/maxinerosemunro