pilgrimage

pilgrimage

during autumn's shortening days

children hunt conkers for playground scrapes

unpicked fruit rots on the trees

leaves turn brown

and me? I take my bike  

onto the Hull to Scarborough train

I get off at Flamborough

pedal to the Head,

pick white chalk stones

at North Landing

and pebbles right for skimming

then ride to an unmarked track,

only hares might run -  

it leads to a path

that leads to a chine

I consider mine

a rivulet trickles to the sea.

a stunted tree,

overhangs the dribbling stream

I date each fresh stone

and place them round the trunk

over-time they’ve formed

a necklet of remembrance

I sit on the bank flicking

flat stones to the sea,

that skim briefly

then sink

and pray in my natural chapel

of stones, stream and stunted tree,

remembering unborn souls

sluiced from life ten years apart

each visit hugs in my heart:

two infants I did beget but never met

two lovers - motherhood declined,

and the regret