Rebecca Violet White
Perhaps next year I will write poems to
you again. Hang my pages in the branches
fingers stained from the fruit, paper sticky
from ink and find it hard to peel the words
off so they can jitter in the breeze.
For now under shivering winter rains,
I lie at night hearing the howling of
letters seeping back to break break my sleep.
Perhaps in spring I will be comforted
and catch the bruised petals in hands that now
ache from clutching a hot pen that will not
write for me. I shall hold them long under
the earth and hope that soil and ash can heal
the burns that I cannot see but still hurt.
Rebecca Violet Whites poetry can be found in Elbow Room Volume Ten
Rebecca Violet White completed an MA in Poetry at the University of East Anglia last year, and has since swapped the cobbles of Norwich for the mock gold pavements of London. She recently appeared in an anthology of all women’s poetry, ‘Furies’, published by For Book’s Sake and currently juggles being a woman in the city and wanting to be a woman outside of the city. Her poetry now features smoke and bones but would like it to include more trees again.