I took a long drive to the coast.
I did it to run away from a problem
and found it couldn’t be done.
Wherever I went, she followed,
stuck to my hip like a child.
In time her likeness upset me,
yet I envied her
the way she passed
from white to gold and back again
like an easy translation
then rocked herself blue by the shore.
She grew up green and seasick.
Neither salt of the sea
nor the earth was enough.
Not a single glittering fistful.
Even here the gulls are crying,
circling the endless sun,
white bellies salt-swollen
and swimming with scales.
I took a long drive to the coast
to get away from myself.
Escaping, never entirely,
eternally knuckled by pebbled hills,
soul rolled flat in the valleys.
My childhood scribbled in Welsh.
Five arches of stone,
two arches of flesh in my feet
as a younger self crawls away laughing
upshore to the rainbowed streets.
I track her bald knees in the sand.