The moor
by Sue Proffitt
There was a moor, you remember—
no idea where, but grass scrunched
tough under boots, a lean stretch of hills,
light filtering through cloud, no rain,
air cool on my skin, and I began talking
to you. Nothing new in that but as soon
as my first words were said you were there,
clear as a bell. We talked then,
all the way back across that moor—
what about, I forget, but I remember
the warmth in your words, as if each one
arrived wrapped, still, in your flesh,
as if blood still ran in your veins
and if I stretched out my hand
(to the side and slightly back)
you’d take it.
Sue Proffitt lives by the coast in South Devon, on the edge of a cliff in a coastguard cottage. She has an MA in Creative Writing, is a Hawthornden Fellow, and has been published in a number of magazines, anthologies, and competitions. Apart from writing poetry, swimming in the sea and walking the coast path are her two great loves. She has two poetry collections published: Open After Dark (Oversteps, 2017) and The Lock-Picker (Palewell Press, 2021). She is looking for a home for her third collection.
