Donabate. A poem by Roisín Browne

Four spaced out
pink, black, blue, grey
rain jackets zipped up to necks
facing Northwards
boots crunch-melt into sand

one shakes her head at sheets of rain thundering forward
two sisters grin, dig their chins further into chests
the fourth throws her blue clad arms open to the wind,
catching air, laughing in defiance at June’s howl

On they go,
free to imprint the strand face
On they go,
free to harness salt in hair
On they go,
free together.

1 Comment

  1. Second poem for this pandemic.
    Very evocative, fully descriptive. A pleasure to read.

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