Message by Mark Mayes

Across the iron bridge and into the woods. Birds are protected here. The signs say. I follow the paths and find the house of your girlhood. Compare it to the blown-up images. New windows and plaster. The drain pipe moved.

And these street names. On your young tongue, and in rhymes as you ran to the river with your friends, holding a carrot from your father’s allotment.

In the heart of the village, I find a woman who knew you from school.

Remember me to her, she said.

I explained.

Well, you can’t then.

I’ll find a way.

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Mark Mayes enjoys reading, listening to music, and writing a bit.

@blauesfragmente

Photo courtesy of Mark Mayes

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