• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 11

The Boats

Strange to think of it now,
That day on the sand,
Our buckets, our spades,
The sea in and out, in and out.
Brine-coated air, damp on our skin,
The lingering smell of shell fish.
I remember sounds too: the lone seagull's call
And the call of the men,
The women too.
And the children's cries,
The crescendo as they drew nearer,
Crammed together, bodies on top of bodies
As though they formed the rafts they travelled upon.
On land they still clung to each other,
Weeping, pale face after pale face.
Amongst them there was only one I remember:
Quietly serene,
Quite still.
'Sacrifice to Neptune,' muttered one man to another.
'Was it worth it, do you think?'