{By Katie Farrell}

Artwork by Gabriela Victoria. Her profile is available in the Art & Photography section.

I’ve got nothing to say
But everything to write.
This cyclical cynicism
Is crunching through
To the marrow of my
Bones. I miss you,
In floating boats across
The Sea. In tiny tidbits
Of conversations on the bus.
In the early mornings when the
Air is milky. In the night when
The moon ascends atop
Her pedestal and illuminates
All of the things we don’t
See in the daylight. At 6 am on
A rain-drenched Saturday,
The roads desolate, the ghost
Of traffic. Puddles huddle
In black clusters like ink,
Oil that has not metallicised,
Hosting the street lights in
Golden flecks. Outer space
Capacitated in a tiny
Vessel. If not for the drops
Of rain displacing the
Water, one could squint and
See what Armstrong did
Day and night
Out of his air-locked window.
Whom are we to tell the
Earth what she does not know?
For she sees all; the beginning
And the end
She has seen ours, in its haste,
Even as I await its final
Breath to balloon my lungs.

Katie Farrell

Katie Farrell was born in Marino, Dublin. She is an avid writer who strives to capture readers in a word, to evoke emotions in an image. She studies creative writing at University College Dublin and has published work in Caveat Lector and HotPress Magazine.

CategoriesIssue III