Psamathe

Written by: Gracie Bawden

    She doesn’t wear shoes in the summer.

    She likes the way the ground feels

    In the creases of her curled up toes


    She hooks them into the sand

    Beneath the marram grass

    And stands

    An arrow pointing to the sun


    The wind runs a wrinkled hand through her hair

    And I watch her from the path

    Feet pushing five inch spears

    Into the rocky ground.