Monday, February 04, 2008

Vanishing Point

Even in dreams you pull away
your flickering eyes betray you.
It didn’t seem much to begin with
just another cross on a pauper’s grave.

As we travelled through miles of desolate
Caithness marsh you were gone.
I stared at the flat roads and felt
the prickle of holly and forget-me-nots.

I watched you light a cigarette
and turn flames into a soft grey ash.
I could feel it in my veins, the way
the curlews swooped and screeched.

On the gentle slopes of Bettyhill
you picked sharpened whins
and drove them into my skin.
There were no soft drugs involved.

We came to a halt at Tongue. Alone
on the shore, I went down on my knees
to pray for cockles and mussels and pearls.
You filed your nails with a board.

Something terminal and sad was written
in the way you walked along the beach,
as if backwards, through hands of bracken.
You wore a crown of tangled gorse.

The tide was gone, leaving miles
of corrugated sand. So we waited.
Five days I counted. Then five years.
There was something I forgot to say.

Kevin Williamson

Vanishing Point is a poem from Kevin's new book In A Room Darkened (on Two Ravens Press),
SFTF is honoured to feature this poem in January's edition - Kevin Williamson's Rebel Inc imprint was a major inspiration behind many of the writers featured on this site.

To buy a copy of his book follow this link, please buy direct from Two Ravens and support the independent book publishing movement -