Liva Jean

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The Solstice is Actually Tomorrow

i’m sat on one of her
old office stools  when
she tells me  that it took
until she was my age before she learnt
the night
   was a sieve
the day  shakes  its way out  of

and i nod like i’ve already
   forgotten how this house gets bigger in fistfuls
the celling always whispering  the difference
between the tool  and the hand that holds it
oh.  a bubble of sound;
                         i’ve never thought of light
                                         like that 
                                              before
                         i hear myself  – say  
               i trust you
 mostly, i mean  something more  (like)
it’s too late  my hair’s been cut
already, i’ve pressed my thumbs into the irises
of  sky  outside my childhood

bedroom window    wobbling  into sleep
  wondering if weed and yellow   walls
covered in everything i tried so hard to love
at 17  are enough   to turn tonight’s dreams
   into  a bath without water
tonight  i am sick  of creation   myths  that begin 
        with  great floods
tonight, Mum: 
 i believe you  the same way  we both know how

filling the bird-feeder out back
 only ends up feeding the  cat 
tomorrow then, it will be  someone else’s job
to point out  that  we both  slope  our lips   together 
like they are the only part of our bodies
not to  meet a mouth

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LIVA JEAN is a full time student and poet based in the UK. She was a contestant in the Roundhouse Poetry final in 2022.