The underbelly of this bridge
mirrors the swim of water
below where a man once sat in a hut
collecting the tolls of west-bound travellers
who paid him in pebbles.
He was vested with power
to arrest them all
but he weighed the stones
in his criss-cross palm,
considered the iron muzzle
and let them go down
the old road that rattles to Bristol.
I wade into the boiling foam
of farmyard run-off
to rescue fish whose tails slap hard,
mouths open mouths shut –
Oh Bristol city of slave ships,
city of deaths in hospital beds
where they gave my sister air to sip,
if I go west to the docklands
to hunt for the ghosts of sisters and sailors
will the man in the arable field,
rifle slung over his shoulder,
mute me when I could have sung?
The Safe Way can be found in The Winged Moon Literary Magazine, print edition 2: https://thewingedmoon.substack.com/p/ancient-is-out-now
