Poet: Bea Hughes
I want to sit in the garden,
heat prickling my cheeks
and your arms around me.
Maybe it’s Sunday,
or some timeless expanse
of empty, warm space
with our toes in the grass
and my hand on your face.
I want to force the thick moment
into a glass bottle and seal it
with wax. I’ll hide it with jam
in the pantry until Winter comes,
and we’re both empty
for a morning of sun.
Beatrice Hughes is a writer living in rural Herefordshire in a 30sqm eco-home. She has previously been published in Neon Magazine, won the OWT Short Fiction Prize, and had her work nominated for the Forward Prize for Best Single Poem.
Blog link: https://beahughesfb.wixsite.com/wxrmth