The tow path traces its wet heartbeat
past mud and grass, then disappears
through a keyhole of bridge and shadow.
Trees wade the ripples; boats glide
through the stillness, spilling pulsed curves.
Sun slides on the water’s tracings.
Beyond the bridge, brambled secrets
and more ghosts that the water
won’t keep for long, having no memory.
Ada thinks of Babcia and what it must be
to live with no past, just a flickering now
traced in fragments on an unstill surface.
Even the things she’d will to forget
are part of her heart’s pulse.
S.A. Leavesley (From ‘Lampshades & Glass Rivers’, Loughborough University Lamplight Press, 2016, winner of the Overton Poetry Prize 2015.)