New Brighton


Amongst the clunk of metal
Dock yards and bitter sand storms
Our feet dapple the spongy sand
Marking, that we’ll get washed away
Breathlessly pressed up against the fort,
The rock at my back
Seaweed soaks me to the scalp, tainting it green,
Blunting the back of my head
Crispy salt crumbles on eyelashes and lips
The sea sprays us
Against the wind we breathe cold air
Like needles up nostrils

To walk alone,
And stand looking at the sea
Knowing my eyes have moulded to sights
That a year ago were unknown,
Never pictured or imagined
Facing the sea, I struggle to breathe
Icy socks pushed down my throat
I’m pulled back by the sounds of you and your dog,
Pinching my calves, fingers chasing
Swooping across the sand, my coat a low dark blaze,
A flag flying
Powered by something

I come down alone at night
And walk out so far on the rocks that in the end,
All there is, is sea
It blasts my head clean with striking tentacles,
Whips of water just missing
As I’m touched only by soft parachutes of spray
The rumbling belly of the sea demands to be rubbed and felt
A desire to be swallowed whole,
Pulled into the sinking black, face up at the stars,
The glittering office blocks
And the spiky cathedral.



* Lucy Winrow says “I've been writing from a young age and began submitting work a few years ago. To date, I  have had poems published in various magazines and journals including Rain Dog, Poetry Monthly, The Ugly Tree and Monkey Kettle as well as in three anthologies.”