OFELIA FERCH RHOS

I forget you, fy nghariad.

the slope of your shoulder 

becomes the hard line of your back:

mountains. snow.

I could forget your face now.

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soft tide laps at your western border:

I will remember your skin

against my hand.

I forget how we talk, my love.

you lilt like birdsong. I cannot reply.

a rock is only so insular as the island it sits on.

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we were always subject to change.


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https://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/literature.jpghttps://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/literature.jpgHIPLiteraturePoetryOFELIA FERCH RHOS I forget you, fy nghariad. the slope of your shoulder  becomes the hard line of your back: mountains. snow. I could forget your face now. soft tide laps at your western border: I will remember your skin against my hand. I forget how we talk, my love. you lilt like birdsong. I cannot reply. a rock is...The Hastings & St Leonards non-profit community newspaper