Otter Ferry

By Frances Leviston

 

Never forget we stumbled
up the drunk stone beach, bellies full
of oysters, bread; across the crumbled
concrete bunker's hill

and like two exiled kings
from that high point surveyed
a combed acre of seaweed, stinking
in the dusk; all its betrayed

haul of half-open tins adrift
on the rippled surface, clusters
of midges and sandflies' thrift
busily uncovering the lustre

of waste; how we said
nothing of what we needed to say,
which would rise as the dead's
final airs, ineluctably,

but both palmed a rock
and aimed it at a rusted pipe;
lobbed; fell short; took stock,
and sourced another hope

from what lay at our feet
to try again; how each sad tone
we raised then sounded sweet,
and no shot was in vain.

 

Frances Leviston was born in Edinburgh in 1982, and later moved to Sheffield. She read English at St Hilda's College, Oxford University, before starting an MA in Creative Writing at Sheffield Hallam University. In 2004, she won Hallam's Ictus Prize, which led to the publication of her first pamphlet, Lighter, by Mews Press. She is currently working towards a full-length collection.