Rydal Cave
A poem by Isabel Miles

Rydal Cave

The ceiling of the cave’s a frozen storm at sea,
its visitors, just people
in a cave, together, vulnerable
in water-dripping semi-dark.

Goodwill wells up.
We offer help to strangers, point out
where the stones are shoogly,
take photographs on unfamiliar phones
of folk whose names we’ll never know.
Haloed by bright water, smooth as mercury,
the backlit profiles on the screens,
are testaments of human commonality,
like stencilled handprints, echoing through time.

We smile, exchange remarks.
Then, one by one,
we pick our way across the silent pool
on slippery-wet rocks,
reluctantly returning to this century,
to hunker down again,
within our separate caves.

About the Author:

Isabel Miles is a scientist turned writer. Born and raised in a Scottish mining village, she now lives in the North York Moors. Among others, Northwords Now, Shooter, East of the Web, Dreich, The Alchemy Spoon, Green Ink Poetry, Toasted Cheese, Snakeskinand Acumen have published her work. She is author of one poetry pamphlet, Spent Earth (Mudfog Press) and a novel, Chosen (Kindle).

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