Islander


Blond hair, sea eyes

Soft laughter, and

Wistful lies

Standing on sand

With a red dirt smile

She’s a loner yet a lover

From out on the isle.

Brown house, old brick

Cracked paths, and

A walking stick

Overlooking the sand

Where she wanders each day

The ivy-touched face

Watches the waves.

High ceiling, worn boards

A narrow bed, and

Sloping floor

With a view of sand

Peeling paint on the walls

And open windows—

Her room smells of salt.

Green sweater, faded jeans

Favourite runners

With softened seams

At home on the sand

Among all that’s familiar

No desire to leave

But a desire to linger.

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27 comments

    1. Thanks for that comment, there was actually a complete mis-copy of that part of the poem. I’m not sure how it happened (I thought I had Ctrl-C down pat…) but let me know if this is an improvement 🙂

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