A poem by Rhian Gallagher from her new collection Far-Flung.

At the Boatshed

for Sonja Mitchell

We carried the day through the door
the harbour had earned its keep
light laid its hands on each contour

the shed held abreast with the shore
spreading the waves in pleats
we carried the day through the door

tide played a rift to the floor
retreat and return, it was speaking
as light laid its hands on each contour

the reds and the greens and the blues in rapport
lines apart and meeting
we carried the day through the door

time was like something we wore
shedding, left a wide scope in its wake
the day with its openings, the door,
light laying hands on each contour.

Submissions to the Friday Poem are welcome and will be open until the end of September. Please send your poems to chris@christse.co.nz.