Mary Cresswell

The blue starfish will see
its arms grow back again.
It always works this way —
they must grow back again. 

Cats come down from the roof, 
bored with being lost. 
They circle me, crying for food, 
and then slink back again. 

I lost my place in the book — 
can the endnotes save me?
To find where I left off, 
I’ll turn to the back again. 

Why was I so heartless? 
An excitation of hearts
will beat through the black sky 
when time comes back again. 

There’s nothing new beyond the reef.
Beyond the glittering waves,
swells swallow troughs — disappear —
then grow back again.

First published in Mezzo Cammin (June 2014)