Each time we dragged ourselves over the dusty hill to the murky water’s edge
You would point out how all the big fish swarmed around my milky feet
Like they were two tasty snacks. A child leading a child, you refused to budge,
But it was not my place to repeat, you’ll get too cold if you stay in any longer.
You lost one of your baby teeth in the rockpools at the bottom of the dusty hill.
I stood, watching your chubby fingers fumbling just out of grasp of its pearly sheen,
Scraping against the rockweed, poking each tompot blenny’s calloused gills.
When we returned home, we emptied our pockets of pebbles and shells
Onto the kitchen floor, crouching like pixies as we marvelled at our treasures.
Yesterday, I discovered that our two favourite rocks are called Twin Sisters.
Like us, they gaze upon the hillside and reminisce about the life they’ve shared,
Relating every memory that isn’t lost at sea, the story behind each scar and blister.
Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever drag ourselves over the dusty hill again.
Perhaps, once more, we could stretch our limbs and see if the rockpools remain.

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Freya Rose Jenkins is from the Isles of Scilly: a remote archipelago twenty-eight miles off the Cornish coast. She is currently in her final year studying English Literature and Creative Writing at Cardiff University, where she explores how her love for the natural world, folklore, and nostalgia shapes her poetry. Freya’s work is deeply inspired by the landscape of her island home and she aims to bring this connection to life by weaving specific place names and natural terminology into her writing. In doing so, she hopes to keep this aspect of language alive in a world increasingly shaped by technology and urbanisation.