A Floating Tree House
We reached the towpath,
carrying rucksacks, tins of cake.
Leaving homework, leaving chores,
leaving the turns of everyday life
behind.
Twenty-four girls, twelve per barge,
to hostel on the canals. It would be flannels
and bowls of water for the next five days.
Cold-feet mornings,
cold porridge,
the chemical loo.
But it didn’t matter.
Five days sitting, legs swinging
over the side of the boat,
talking and laughing at nothing
in particular. Lunches in the yard
of an actual pub.
The cheer of slow movement,
not another boat in sight for hours.
Into the stillness, our voices burbled,
our closeness swelled.
I saw a piece of something sea-blue
dart into the water. Maybe a kingfisher,
Mrs Bale said. I felt the air travel deep
into my lungs.
Doryn Herbst, a former water industry scientist working in Wales, lives in Germany. Her writing considers the natural world and themes which address social issues.
Poetry in print and online, including: Osmosis, The Storms, The Wild Word, the anthology – It’s not SYMPTOMATIC It’s Systemic. She is a reviewer at Consilience.
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