You I’ll suffer madly;
a fool, gladly taking lashings
for time
that I never 
quite understood.

You I can’t catch;
all my words 
roll down the
hills of
your back 
like water,
instead of sticking 
with honeyed fingertips
where they should.

You I cannot match;
time hurtles around you
- a question mark
that keeps running
without a point 
to keep it in check.
Shapeless flight;

you are the moon,
slippery and bright.
The sun burns itself
into a pit; I wish
I was in it, where the
throes of its rage 
tear and flay 
at such delicate threads.

You are long gone;
in my mind’s eye,
new waves in my brain
destroy you -
divine nothing.
By morning,
gone too soon.
There is no evergreen.

About the Author:

Grace is a 25 year-old poet and freelance French translator from the UK. Her work explores the ineffable, unsayable gunk in our brains, and is focused on rhythms of sound and silence. Some of Grace’s recent poetry features in a global women’s anthology entitled BeautiFUl Ways to Say and online, with Silent Auctions and In Looking Out. Grace was longlisted for the Erbacce Poetry Prize 2020 and has forthcoming pieces in Sauer Magazine and Orange Blush Zine. She recently graduated with an MPhil in French Literature from Cambridge and is currently working on her debut collection of poetry and aphorisms. More examples of her work, and her dog Barry, can be found on Instagram (@grace_tckr).


%d bloggers like this: