17.

Along the canal, the cherry blossom falls like snow. My hair is alive in the wind and strands catch in my mouth and snake my head in a dark halo. The sky is blue and the day tastes of grass and crystals and the iron before a rainstorm. The light falls heavy and golden across the walls of the warehouses, burning them in phoenix hues. I walk quietly and quickly, on the edge, where the dark water stains the concrete with weed.

Here are the tombs where the bluebells march. Spring flowers bright against the green and grey, bugle-headed clusters in yellow and orange. Now the daffodils are pale as ghosts, and brush the graves with translucent petals. Look up and the sun blinds you, reflected in the eyes of the office blocks. The Barbican stands steadfast, caught in the dying light.

16.

this love
it cored me
every exhale tearing the cradle of my ribs
an empty basket i bury my head in the pillow
i try to inhale your scent
feel the impression of your skull
the press of your jaw
my hand is lead without your grip
the space of your arm circling my waist
i bend into your embrace
sink boneless
my eyes scald your face sharp
every time my lids drop tears
leak on my cheeks i taste your salt on my tongue

15.

She wakes up one morning to find a gap in her mind, a grey spot that she pokes at with her thoughts, trying to recall what lived there. The space is like a missing tooth, the gum hot and swollen and empty. Her memories rail around the point, searching for a point of reference, something familiar to cling to.

Something has made an incision, scalpel-sharp, and cleanly removed a piece of her history. She is disordered, displaced, she wakes sweating with terror at the thought of what she may have lost. This is the dream she kept hidden, this is the love that she has forgotten, her first ice-cream, her favourite book, her mother’s hand. Anything could be locked inside, thousands of memories parcelled in pinpoint boxes

Who came in the night to snatch away herself? There is no gradual fade, no slow slide into forgetfulness. Only this blank space, this perfect egg of nothing.