Barkwell Lane,
Brookbottom,
Spring Street,
Mossley’s watery past submerged below.
Their babbling voices
Chatter beneath our feet,
Their courses covered,
Their paths prevented.
They continue to trickle,
They continue to flow,
They continue to spread,
Like lacy veins weaving their web.
They reach into crevices,
They worm into cracks,
They push into gaps,
Droplets transforming force.
They soak and seep,
They erode and erase,
They split and smash,
They rot and rise.
They break their bonds,
They smash their coffin lids,
They gush through gulleys,
They unleash their power.
Reclaiming their routes,
Reclaiming their rights,
Reclaiming their land,
Reclaiming their future.
Barkwell Lane,
Broadbottom,
Spring Street,
Mossley’s watery past emerges into the sun.
Linda Boyles