
by Ruth Thompson
There is something about
our bones as we grow old -
they get more porous,
thinner, hollowed out
like those of birds, and light.
Marjorie, already winged
(her bow arm unimpeded)
and poised beside the water
seems likely to take flight
but then, in small swift
movements, sheds
her clothes and plunges in.
Surfacing, hair slicked
back in a heron's quiff,
she gleams - half bird,
half water-sprite
a big thank you to writer Ruth Thompson, participant in WOT's creative writing holidays.
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