A littoral zone

Nick Mulgrew

“There is no way around the problem
of naming this thing”
– Sally-Ann Murray, “Beyond the beach”

As for the gift of a public bench
that leaves on sunwarmed skin
the imprint of its edge and gravelled pith,
remember: there is a furlong of this coast
that rests under no watchman’s eyes.

At the river mouth where the river horse lay,
there are warrens of mangroves and sand,
depeopled like gardens are deweeded:
judiciously, and by hand.

Dear God, to wish for a life that is not this life,
and be found living a life that wishes that same wish –
this is heart-carrion. Shrugging, the lagoon tumbles
sunken teeth, rootless, toward the wastewater.

This froth and scum floats with life, but no,
these ancestors are not yours.
Unnamed, the bones stretch out from where they hide,
part-skeletons strung together by fishing line
and gwaai-breathed; they their own catch and release,

straining for the solace of a shoreline.
Where is your own relief ?
There is the frame, but there is no seat.
Mistaken as driftwood, the beach regathers itself
and lies like an old towel, down for you, at your feet.