There’s a pool here that is always still.
If you look in, you’ll see your face
framed in gold green seaweed.
I’ve been alone down here –
it’s not a busy beach,
the path too steep and stony
to attract too many families;
outside of summer I often
find it empty –
and heard a sound, a call,
that’s not a herring gull,
and not the swirl of water.
Sometimes, I’ve caught
a silver glimmer
from the corner of my eye,
moving swiftly out of sight
and once I saw a shape
that could have been a seal,
but there are no seals here,
not for miles. I checked.
On my shelf at home,
I have a little fishbone comb.
I found it by the mirror pool.
None of this is proof
of anything, of course.
And let’s all give a sigh of relief, because NaPoWriMo has given us a prompt that doesn’t require too much brain twisting. We are asked to write about the mysterious, the fantastical, the unexplained, and offered a dose of Shelley to help us on our way.
Sarah writes poems 