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Forager by Sarah Beck Mather

Light dancing off the surface,

as the others are sprinkled

beneath with blue.

 

Piercing through vein ridden skin -

He’d never get involved with the likes of me

because he said, my skin looks like milk.

 

Pops of pebble-colour rocks, with a murky

green underneath – a scum

that we still picked up and ordered, one by one by one.

 

And it comes and it comes when it comes

they say.

But I’m barely ready.

 

And now a forager on the shore

left alone with one coin. Brass (at best)

trailing behind a heaving hum of black.

 

I can still taste the chorine every morning -

I’ll never un-stick my mug.

 

All of those plans

all of those

plans.


Sarah is an artist, actress, and poet - recently published by The Bounds Green Book Writers, A Soft Landing, Last Leaves Mag, Nottingham C.A.N, Bloodmoon Poetry and Nightingale and Sparrow Magazine. Her latest Art Commission can be seen in the Resus ward, A+E Department and Chelsea and Westminster Hospital vaccination hub. Her visual poetry can also be seen in Streetcake Magazine and Nightingale and Sparrow magazine.

Website: sarahbeckmather.com Instagram: @sarahbeckmather


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