by Sarah Das Gupta
They squat on lichen-green rocks,
looking into a shallow pool,
the water contained and warm.
The sand through the watery mirror
still ridged, clinging to the memory
of wild waves and running tides.
Like two sea queens, the children stare
into this miniature world
which for this moment
they think they master and control.
Frail feathers of green weed
float through the glassy water.
Sea anemones cling like fridge magnets
to the craggy sides.
They watch star fish,
fallen in the first days of Creation,
now condemned to gaze upwards
at their favoured kin in the night sky.
While they, small Lucifers,
lie on grey sand.
The sisters watch a crab
scuttle across the sand,
driven by an unseen terror,
to dig hysterically and vanish.
They wade though the water,
nets in hands-
breaking that fragile mirror.
Their small feet cloud the pool,
as a miniature sand storm
darkens the waters
and a motor boat
roars across the bay
Sarah Das Gupta is a writer from Cambridge, UK who has taught English in India and Tanzania, as well as UK. She began writing at age 80, after a disabling accident. Her work has been published in magazines and anthologies in over twenty countries and she has recently been nominated for Best of the Net and a Dwarf Star.
Hawaii Pacific Review 