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Sarah James: a poem

Sea Glass

I collect lies as Nan collected sea glass: wave-whittled and dream-coloured. They flicker in my fingers and my mind.

Landlocked, I stare into a lake – I could empty in sea glass and lies like pocket-lining pebbles. Grief and loneliness would still float up.

Damselflies darn the water's surface. Soon lilies will heal it over – a scene from Monet's garden.

I am young and pretty. His love will last forever ...timeless. I mouth my lies softly.

Blown clouds ripple across. My face rises in the stillness of blue skies and petalled sunshine.

Only Nan could smooth the edge off the sharpest truths. Now she is gone, her sea glass dulls to beached light.

Sarah James is a poet, fiction writer, journalist, photographer and editor at V. Press. She’s the author of seven poetry titles, an Arts Council England funded multimedia hypertext poetry narrative (Room), two novellas and a touring poetry-play. Her latest titles include How to Grow Matches (Against The Grain Press), plenty-fish (Nine Arches Press), both shortlisted in the International Rubery Book Awards, and The Magnetic Diaries (Knives, Forks and Spoons), which was highly commended in the Forward Prizes. You can find her here:


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