Sandbar at Taieri Mouth
- Marion Jones
They ran along the bar's wide sandy path to the island.
On one side, the river flowed seaward, on the other, the ocean
rose and fell, while wind pressed the river to meet the tide.
In the blue, the sun hung high, a coin to pay Charon's toll
to ferry spirits of the dead over the River Styx to Elysium.
Either side, the waves crossed over the bar. Sheaths
of sand angled past, as they ran through the centre, a meeting
place. On the island, their feet touched rock. She held out
her arms, pressed herself to the cliff to signify their arrival.
The boom of breakers merged with the roar of wind. Wing
on wing, the seagulls swooped and skimmed, as she shouted,
'Those birds will devour us.' In the lea of the bluff, he leaned
away from the shrieking.
As they turned back, the surge deepened, the bar uneven.
He lifted each foot above the water. Against her thighs,
the current drew down. The surface wavered with the patina
of bush, the maize of gorse fields on the hill, while old man
Charon moved along the channel's watery grave out to sea.
• Marion Jones lives and writes poetry in Brighton, Dunedin.
