From Sophie-Grace Chappell
On West Sands Beach
For Katherine Hawley
Some things will not persist. This soapy sandstone
looks rock; is rock; yet crumbles in your hand.
The banded cliffs above: how in slow motion
they tumble and cascade, wreck in the waves,
sink with the punctured trawlers, not enduring.
The passing years of students scribe initials
into these parallel reefs, these chalky ridges,
runes of hope that last a few thousand tides.
But I once watched one sitting here, head in hands,
on her knees an official letter that she read
and read and read again, and cried to read.
Of course, I could not ask. But this I saw,
and The Scores behind, the churches, great dons’ houses,
looked permanent enough, compared to her.
Salt waters come and go. They take the best;
indifferent things abide like gulls on rocks.
Remorse for long living is almost at my lips.
So many ships gone down, so many ships.
KJH
1971-2021
30.4.21