Lost Spades

Preserved in sand,

the skeleton of the wind;

tugged seaweed clumped in rope,

the static billow of marram grass.

Under our boots, the plunder

of lost spades, misplaced keys, and below still

the backbone of a unknown shipwreck

emerging sometimes in the rougher spring tides -

a cracked mast, a puckered hull.

We rise and fall in layers, civilised and carnal

sand-beaten, gale-torn, insistently

repeating over the din

our names,

where we came from,

how high we climbed.

There are years that ask questions and years that answer. - Zora Neale Hurston

🎧 Listening to: Arooj Aftab - Inayaat (such a beautiful song - feels like I’m repeating memories as the music unfolds)