Island

I remember dead whale on the beach, enormous and small at the same time, Minke, not stinking like people said it would but not exactly emitting an aroma for sore noses either; we were told not to touch it so we compromised, one fingertip each.

I remember the cold slithering slap of a jellyfish against already unsteady legs.

I remember the Hogmanay gale that lifted me up and threw me down on the other side of the lane, breathless in the face of its rage.

I remember how the midges ruined a summer afternoon on our bikes, a fuzzy cloud of irritants never diminishing in number no matter how many you massacred with a sharp clap in front of your face.

I remember when the bus driver steered around a hedgehog who got caught playing chicken, grinning at his own theatrical display of compassion while we cheered.

I remember my dad’s shifty-eyed evasion after the sinister disappearance of my favourite sheep.

I remember a disgusting spider under my foot in a wellington boot and I remember it every time I see a wellington boot and I will never ever not ever put my foot in a boot without shaking it out.

I remember sliding around the playground shrieking before the killjoy council men arrived to melt the ice with their grey grit, turning fun to sludge.

I remember the sickening roll of the ferry just before I gave up and threw up my fat pork sausages.

I remember moths queueing outside my window to get in, a line of flying monsters, too stupid to know the difference between a lightbulb and the moon, but still able to observe social niceties.

I remember my cat's face when she ate one.

If you like these poems, you might like City Girl, or Kitchens.

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