Rebecca Faulkner
Mudlarking
Wading out beyond the estuary, searching for the spot
we buried our childhood. From the jetty I see sisters
beautiful & misshapen as river rocks. Nudge memories
loose with my tongue, slices of our house just visible
among reeds. An egret squats by the slate wall, bothersome
as a beady-eyed boy. His beak shows me where we dug
for worms, wings bold & foolish as a playground dare.
Polished our foul moods till they sparkled in the pocket
of my navy windbreaker while she hurled curses
at clouds, waiting for the river to prove itself. Mostly
she was mute beneath chestnut bangs I cut too short
while Mum slept off the fizz of vodka tonics. Speaking
for her around adults, I’d whisper advice gleaned from three
extra years of life. Forgive her with stale Custard Creams,
knowing she chose silence to keep the peace. Remember the girls
we were as I lace stiff work shoes, find her fingers in the ooze
when I unload the dishwasher, sense her smirk when I break
a glass, if the pram won’t fold. Crashing through waves
of morning when the baby cries, I wonder if she’s happy,
whether she lines her pockets with pebbles. Half-formed
vowels rumble across my ribcage, secrets surfacing as I dredge
for our remains. What would she say to me now she’s ready?
