Monday, April 23, 2018

Gail Aldwin


Mist hung in the air; the lake glinted silver in the early light. Turner wore a suit, but the trousers were creased where his knees buckled. His fingers were spread in surrender and stiff. Gerri bent to examine his face. She knew that lying eye too well, but the gaping socket made her wince. Bits of brain like scarlet frogs' spawn spewed out. On the blanket, champagne spilt from the glass. Trust him to start on the booze. He'd arranged the plates, two of them, but the food had been scavenged by wildlife and the linen napkins gnawed. Over on the island, a heron flapped its wings, the only witness to the killing. Walking to the car, Gerri made a mental list of the possible perpetrators. She ignored the bird's pink-tinged beak and the splattering of droplets that stained its feathers.

Paula Messina reads "Picnic":

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Gail confesses: "The idea for 'Picnic' came during a visit to a wetland centre where there were herons strolling about. My young son was naturally inquisitive and as he was roughly the same height as the bird, I panicked about a possible attack and dragged him away."

GAIL ALDWIN's poetry is published by Ink Sweat and Tears, Slamchop, Words for the Wild, and Underbridge. Her poetry was commended in the Mother’s Milk Books Writing Prize 2017. One of Gail's poems appears in the Beaumont Park permanent poetry trail in Huddersfield, UK. In 2016, she won first prize in the Bournemouth National Poetry Day competition with an entry titled “Starlings”. You can find Gail on Twitter @gailaldwin and WordPress.


Jim Bates said...

Brilliant. I was drawn in by the detailed descriptions of the scene and intrigued to find out more. Very well done!!

Gail Aldwin said...

Thank you, Jim. It's kind of you to comment here!