Pulse of a stone
We took our home with us those weeks, packing up
and moving on each few days, the children falling from their beds if we were
not careful and tied them down. I drove like crazy through our old south coast haunts.
So I thought I had something to say about all
this; the trip, returning to bury your grandmother, the state of our marriage, myself
as a boy, details of the Tracey Emin show (though of the latter I tell people
that I do).
The children collected fossils, prised them out.
When we had agreed to give them small knives I cannot recollect. The care they
must have taken. Ammonites they found. I do not recall walking away, and cannot
understand how I wandered so far.
I saw a stone in the toss and turn of a shallow
pool. It spun and pulsed, red then grey, held in place by forces. I wondered
about them, gravity, friction, energy, (what are they?) The sea leaving
returned in the act of going. My feet steadily sinking.
James Bullion March 2013
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