Piccolo Bay

i pick up carcasses by the shore
collection
tally up
shells: coffins or spines? discussing
options nonetheless, necessary at best

one day in 1994
we could no longer go back
corpsed carapaces, shells
now massacres led by
Shell ships profiting
at the beach lines
fished out capital
towed toward
a goal in decline

compass fresh predictions
no return
such point has passed
competing
sandy bodies yet to burn
entrant earth came last
​
i pick up tomatoes by the store,
apt eyes
tally up
cherry: none there nor plum
not even a pit
for disappointment to lay
just the ashes of sand
replacement labels
left to quell
options nonetheless, necessary at best

---

Gossip

I may talk to the trees about an ax: “oh watch
out for that one, he’ll only catch your breath”
but “my leaves are smart and so complex” barked
the trees, but alas their wood be
a notch awaiting surgery. I read
​
               prayers for that gentle carpenter for
               his visit to the forestries. innocence bleating
               the youngest birch asked, “will I be
               a clock or a splinter?” I
               don’t know, I just hope you remain your own.

               (he was a leg in a table
               coated with poison,
               the carpenter cried
               but it was long-lasting
               budget-friendly and
               great for the economy)

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Belinda Smith is a Cornish and autistic writer with a keen interest in writing about collective memory, ecology, disability, autism, and all kinds of love. They have works forthcoming in literary publications including Wishbone Words and Lay of the Land Zine. They graduated university with a degree in History in 2021 and have since worked with autistic children in nursery environments. They publish more of their work @sprigganpoetry on Instagram.