It’s in the space between my words
In the junk in my DNA
In the pause between the lub and dub
The losing of concentration.
It’s in the daydreams
The unheard echo of silent screams
The data that cannot be set
The Doppelganger unmet.
It’s in the breeze, in the sunshine
In the taste
Not the food, not the wine.
It’s in the inner outer space
The place
Where I am.
Julie Carter
In gratitude to the wobbly footbridge over the Middle Derwent in Portinscale, where I live
Run River Run Below my feet
Under the wobbly bridge
Over my troubled waters.
I was only just a wobbly teenager
When I first wobbled across.
Sat for the first time in a kayak
Did capsize drill in an eddy near the edge,
In the Middle Derwent.
Skiddaw was unmoved.
I learned how
Not to drown.
I stop in the middle sometimes
Look down
Notice where the water flows back on itself
Like an afterthought,
Something needs a second look.
Now I cross this bridge almost every day
Walking, running, on my bike,
It’s only just wide enough for that.
I’m going somewhere I’m coming home.
The bridge always wobbles.
I’ve got used to it.
Julie Carter
Mungrisdale Writers 
