Erosion

The London post . . .

Slaughden
by Kenneth Durham Smith

Slaughden was a thriving, boat-building village in the 19th century on the Suffolk coast, just south of Aldeburgh. But little by little the sea ate away at the shoreline. Its last house was destroyed by a storm in 1926.

When storm winds merged with heavy tides
and some great wheel turned within the sea,
cold grey water crashed over the beach
and the villagers did what they always did – 
open first the sea facing doors, 
then the rear doors, then run upstairs
or cling white-knuckled on top of tables
as the sea races in the front
and surges out the back.

After, the lane behind the houses
was littered with debris –
socks, shoes, the odd scarf, broken china,
the odd book or smashed chair.
The villagers combed through it all,
what could be salvaged, what belonged to whom.

I know that I belong to you,
even across an ocean and many years. 
But a country can be eaten away,
by the sea, by storms, just like a village.

The Seattle riposte . . .

Question (1974)
by David Keith Johnson

In coming decades
When we tell the wonders of our age,
Will we be troubled to hold back sarcastic laughter?

 
— Or will we tell them, only half believed,
To our children, less than half believing,
Dressed in tattered smocks
Around the camp fire
At the cave’s wide mouth?