Aberconwy Fable

Down the hill my egg fell open to reveal a perfect ball;

green like a grape and as solid as my skull.

When we drank the salt, a witch appeared on the mound,

arms outstretched, legs running away with themselves.

When car bonnets and amber pill bottles seemed appealing.

I have seen desperation play out in a refined bubble.

I have fallen down the sand in double denim, rugged and dry.

Half a head rolling rainbows to a communion wafer.

By Courtenay Schembri Gray