Excarnation #3

Updated: Aug 20

The sea sparks a poem I read at school. Hidden in an anthology,

scrawled and shaded with words

about caesuras, sex and sibilance.

She, the poet, felt the incoming

waves contained her dead and lost friends,

unfurling from the water towards her.

A procession of bodies, lapping against the shore.

The chalk path pounded by feet,

alternates between blinding and grey

according to the sun.

Along the way a sign points

to an ancient burial ground unearthed

or earthed on the beach.

A sea-henge, fifty split oak trunks,

carved and placed into sand.

Myth says the bodies left in the henge

would be plucked, sucked and tucked

into by hungry birds,

until only its bones remained.

Clothes now hide most our flesh,

we laugh at the carnal.

A little uneasy, I examine

the ancient ring and mull over our newness.

I think how I too will be

pecked by the gulls.



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