Egremont Ferry Poem by victoria donnelly

Where the tide never reached
on a triangle of beach
sat our nan in her coat on hot days.
There in towel capes and cozzies
and new flip flops we'd soar,
down steep Tobin hill
bags and buckets and all
as rubber thongs rubbed
our toes raw.
And from the sorted speck
against the sandstone wall
we ran and we ran into ease
shaking-off the weight
of mothers pre-dayout strains
while the waves washed over our knees.