homecoming

we’re back here where we started,
a pair of salty whelks born by the sea.

the beach is vast and quiet.
we talk about our escape,
about how we dreamed of drifting
and washing up like debris, someplace new.

we wanted to hide from mismatched lights lining the water’s edge,
where dark waves catch the colours
and sink them.

indoors, we’re curious of the outside, watch from our shells
through parted blinds, as
gulls swoop under streetlights,

and notice the houses opposite more than before, their
bricks tearing through render like pink skin from a scab.

my mother cuts open a pie and we eat it from our knees on the carpet. the news is on but we’ve stopped listening.

we lie in a bed too small for
the both of us, window open so we can hear the rush of the tide.
we hold our bodies close —

wonder how long we will be home for. wonder how we ever left.

Beth Barker is from Blackpool and works book events at Blackwell’s, as well as studying English Literature at the University of Manchester. Her work has previously been published in the Vagabond City journal. Beth writes both prose and poetry, taking particular interest in women, class and writing the North. She likes reading books, making zines and being by the sea.

Anthony Elliott is a queer film photographer based in Bristol. He enjoys collaboration, experimental photography, and shots of light on water.