Issue #11


The gingham of your ears
has faded under the weight of
whispered secrets from
sleepless nights.
Where a restless child
tugged gently at your heart
and listened for the soft lullaby that
promised peace.

Your coat has worn thin over time,
through homesick tears,
and the secret squeezes
of a lonely adolescent
when the world seemed too big to bear.

You sit now,
on a dusty shelf,
amongst the shells of ambitious spiders,
with those button eyes,
which know everything (but never see):
a distant spectator.

But in the quiet, empty hours
the dying notes of
‘You Are My Sunshine’
can still be heard fading slowly
into silence.

Matilda Webb