JD Cleghorn

Photograph courtesy of Sally Robertson

I am not
An old woman
But my body
Is weakening
Not an easy life
So much loss and
Choices denied but
Laughter though
Small achievements and
Joyfulness too
My heart is
Worn with effort
Each beat may
Be the last.
Come closer
Dear Reader
I will
Tell you the story
Whisper my secrets
Into your ear
Before it is
Too late

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--

Detective Liguri stared, and sighed with disbelief.

‘So, you’re telling me that you were out for a walk, and you found a body, but you didn’t report it? Why not?’

‘Well, what if the blackguard wa’ still lurking in the bushes? How would a decrepit ol’ woman like me fight him off? Last thing I need’s a skulldugger lurking ‘round ‘ere. I don’t need any more trouble Mr Liguri. You know ‘ow hard its been on me, since my old Georgie died. I knew if I didn’t report it someone else would.’

--

--

Pip stumbled down the dusty track. That same root caught her every time she checked her crop. Righting herself, she continued, her gaze darting round nervously. She wasn’t proud of growing weed but, with the risk of losing her farm, it was her last resort to help pay the bills.

--

--

Some lands rise up to greet newcomers
Peninsulas beckon like Mother’s welcoming arms
Sweeping travellers into the nurturing shelter of their bays
Not this land
So flat, featureless
Brooding on the horizon
A shimmering spectre
Lying in wait for those who dare approach her shores
She is ancient
Jealously guarding the riches buried within
Even as she bleeds her last into the brine
Others have tried
Timber and bones splintered on rocky shores
Coastal reefs and sandy shoals
Evidence concealed and revealed
By relentless salty waves

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JD Cleghorn

JD Cleghorn

Creative writer|reformed academic author|recovering anthropologist