Poetry: Selections from Katy Naylor
I am walking a bridge, very narrow. It sways under my tread. If I can just breathe, keep my gaze fixed on the horizon, keep one foot in front of the other, I might just stand a chance.
I am stretched on a line far up above the pavement. There are birds, but I don't have wings so I'll just have to hold on.
I can feel it beginning to slip, loose change and loose words jangling on the tarmac below.
I can only hold my breath and hope they don't crack the little skulls of the people down there.
I'm edging out to sea, floating towards the last life buoy, disappearing back into the tearing grey distance.
I'm pressed into the soft skin of the tide - it's pulling me faster and faster now the current a strained tangle of ragdoll limbs and seaweed shrug and surrender now don't look back.
I'm riding a jagged wave I'm at the very crest sharp air in my lungs I'm 1000 ft high
I'm holding my arms out like Rose whatsername I'm all powerful invincible I'm king of the fucking world
I'm one with it and I'm terrified and I know it won't be long before the crash.
On our first date we went to the fairground
we are fun-house mirror twisted outsized swaying flaws distorted steps stumble in the rock and jumbled swing of it
we are thrown darts coconut shy try your luck hazy neon loose change take a shot gun blind swipe right now caught in the pull the lure of it one more coin
we are deafened screaming joy blared music pounding shout to be heard in the din of it the space between message and meaning
we are merry-go-round swirling lose your bearings blur flowering dizzy pick what you like the horse the truck the little car you'll still be spun til you're sick
Katy Naylor lives by the sea, in a little town on the south coast of England. She writes in the time that falls between the cracks. Recent publications include work in Outcast Press, Expat Lit and The Bear Creek Gazette. Her chapbook, Postcards from Ragnarok, published by Alien Buddha, is available now.
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