Hello loves,
Poem number 2 for National Poetry Month is below. Not sure it's finished, but I'm sticking to my plan. 
A reminder that all responses are very welcome and appreciated, but I'd be especially delighted if you respond with poetry or lines of your own.

By Edith Hope Bishop, April 2023
At the end of the day
when we should have gone back
we climbed into the mangroves.
Our fingers and toes gripped bark
in the fading light.
Already scraped and scratched
from three days fishing on our father’s boat,
we slapped at mosquitoes.
We stretched sore but growing.
Sunburnt and joyous.
We’d escaped at last
into the movie we needed
life to be.
Just a bit further
until we find it.
It must be there.
It must.

A clear pool
at the heart of the grove.
A place to float-
quiet and breathless
slow and tender
with the creatures
who know best.
Bluecrabs sidling by.
Glass minnows in swift clouds.
Coral and sponge and seagrass,
indifferent to every snail.
Jeweled fish swimming patterns
we can’t trace.
And thunder now in the distance.
Darkness building.
Sharks will gather soon
and our mother will worry.
We should be going.
But we can’t. 
We never will.


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