The Catch

Eighteen
the world spun to your laugh
but you slipped
through the nets of wild boys
to his capturing cove.

There you grew sea gardens
danced the bright future
you wove his gold children
and sang him through darkness.

Forty
defenceless
you spin to your pain
he is gone
he the harbour
seeking eighteen again.
Bravely into the black water
you go with your broken threads trailing.

(Previously published in Island Magazine, n.55, 1993)

© Mary Blackwood