Next month we will see the beeches burn
bronze and yellow, gold and orange flames.
Tall poplars will stand stripped, their shapes swaying
shadows that slash across the sides of the hill,
stretching up into the night and searching
for shooting-stars across the desaturated sky.
As indigo deepens into black, a drifting shape—
a pale, paper-thin leaf, the ghost of a child—
will settle in the dark place somewhere between us
as we wait, in silence, for the promise of grief.
Louise Longson cleared enough space in her spare room and head to start writing ‘properly’ during lockdown 2020. She is published by One Hand Clapping, Fly on the Wall, Nymphs, Ekphrastic Review, Obsessed with Pipework, Indigo Dreams Publishing, The Poetry Shed and others. She is the author of the chapbooks Hanging Fire (Dreich Publications, 2021) and Songs from the Witch Bottle:cytoplasmic variations (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). A qualified psychotherapist, she works with historic trauma and the physical and emotional distress caused by chronic loneliness. In her head, sky is always blue, grass always green, leaves always golden. Needs to get out more.