The Sea’s Return Home
Our sea comes in
in tongues riffling fast as feathers,
blurred with flap and clatter, this is Babel on wheels, the agglomerated
hurl and rive, the piling on of languages, cacophanous.
A noisy rainbow’s grafted itself white.
Whisht, now, it’s here;
the flags of many nations flare and are let go,
utterances marked by travel are swilled back to the mother tongue.
It broadens where it shimmies in, slicks the sea steps at talk’s ebb,
whispers: wheere and theere.
It knows where’s home,
our own bonny polyglot, always quick to catch on,
we all of us said it’d go far (and how!).
It fairly shot up – and out – but never despised its roots.
Scuffing on the doormat,
joggling the sneck,
it’s got its proper accent pat, slotted back,
backlogged with craic and ripe for dishing it; it’s been the Red Sea,
the Yellow and Black. The last lees of clatter filter out,
through the scrawp of stones, the wheezing frequencies.
Jason Lytollis. Highly Commended