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Simone
Gilson
I am 24 years
old and studied for a BA English at Royal Holloway University, from which I graduated in 2004. I currently
work as a Marketing Administrator for an international publishing company in London.
Broken
Fault lines run across
the surface like
cracked pavements
solid surfaces, bending
malleable under
heat, skipping past
broken fragments
shards of bad luck
stretching upwards
to grasp your ankles
lines splitting
across the light
an exit with nowhere
to go, fault lines
that are all mine.
Inside
There is a woman in
the attic, she is locked
inside. I can feel her
pacing, pacing frantically
backwards and forwards.
She has no where to
go but like a clock
ticker forever swings
back and forth searching for
a way out. Your prison
is like a maze they say
there is an exit route
but there are no signs
to offer the how and where.
I feel her frustration
bubbling over, building
up until she screams
inside my mind for
room to speak
reverberations knocking
soundlessly. But She, is
the calm one, the reason,
whose utterance
means so much more
than any garbled consonants
that fall from between
my lips. She is chanting now.
Asking for help. I fall silent.
I have no answers for her.
Oranges
You handed out promises
like presents glistening
fruits, valuable to the
touch, pockets weighted
down with tree roots
that you refused to let
seed but offered out
like branches of peace,
potential humming
around the room, cut off
at the stump.
For me you gave an
orange, oval resounding
with positivity. I wanted
to take you away
safe where no one could
harm you. Cherish the
how’s and dream of
beginnings. I watched
daily waiting for you
to flourish and grow.
But you did neither, but
with the warmth
of hope forgotten
began to shrink,
dying slowly from the
inside out, a vacuum
turning from yellow
to white with anger.
I wanted to swallow you
whole and lodge the seeds
inside until you remembered us.
As time passed, fallen and
bruised, promises turned into
omens.
copyright
© Simone Gilson
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