The West Pier

The West Pier
is a wooden spider.
Its body is the
arsonist’s artistry.
The wind blows through
the gaping rooftop spine
but the concert hall hollow bones
stay silenced.
Its legs are splayed
determined to remain
dipping its cast-iron toes
into the murky sea
pointing to  the place
someone swam
to light the flame
that turned a postcard picture
into this
burnt out ruin.

by Kimberly Jamison

Blue #342

It was the dark pastel blue of my art set
the sky and the sea smudging together
it was the blue of years to come
the filter over my nightmares
the blue of bruises just about to fade
of veins under sunburn
of the pavement under rain.

You see, its the blue I always avoid.
It’s the blue your face became.

By Kimberly Jamison

Navigate

In olden times, before GPS, adventurers would use sextants to find their way through more dangerous waters
but since you have returned home to the stars you were made from
I have no trouble navigating treacherous times
and although I wish you were still on this earth
I have no more need for metal instruments
I just look towards my celestial guide

By Kimberly Jamison