Shock by Aoife Mannix

Out on the edge of the peninsula
where the ships are sliced thinly,
the pirates dance their goodbyes,
warning of homecomings,
the fickle nature of ghosts.
We search for sunken treasure
at low tide, lucky pennies, glass bottles
with maps inside, a hook for a sail.
The river is the blood of the city,
we are the salmon come full circle.

The sky line a pearl necklace cast into space.
You reel me in with rocket ships,
giant clocks, a bowl turned upside down.
The echo of funerals as if all losses
hold her name. Stumbling in the church,
moments of unbalance. Leaping from
pillar to post, I fall into your arms.
Catch me if you can.

I am all the people I used to be,
a Russian doll splintered open.
I haunt myself with the future,
toy airports, minor turbulence.
I get lost wandering along the highway
with the trucks wearing eye patches.
I’m choking on public hangings,
prison marshes, what lies
at the bottom of the Thames.

Please ignore my wooden limbs,
my parrot phone calls, my default mode.
I know it’s not always easy to read
my Morse code, but I only ever meant
to hold your hand. My fear of drowning
is second only to my fear of silence.
There are still bridges,
connections to the mainland,
our seashell collection, all those promises
that have yet to be found.