Stronghold
by Sophia Argyris
We visited castles in childhood,
wrapped ourselves in history
for warmth, and to hold us steady.
We saw them stately still, clamouring
with glamour, imagined glittering
conversations tinkling and chiming
amidst crystal and china laid out
behind red rope strung to hold us back.
The best were the grumbling ruins,
dour grey with empty window sockets,
missing walls and slab stone
staircases leading only to airy skies,
so tempting in their finality.
I dreamt of fire, our home aflame
and crackling, filled with smoke
while my family sat, calm above all,
in the living room refusing to leave.
Now I dream only of water, expanses
of blue which drown us one by one
or make me choose who to save, who to lose.
Only once the sea was warm,
heady with sun. I climbed
across a high and narrow bridge to
join the swimmers by the shore.
heat on my shoulders,
dunes stretching into the distance,
and sand castles at my feet.
