As frosted flakes go limp in milk
I guide an ant with sugar grains
over the dents of our tabletop –
I make a shell
of my palm against my ear
and listen to the ocean,
it has nothing much to say.
That night, I eat three carrots
so I can see in the dark –
perhaps, in monochrome,
I will feel again.
I want to dip the moon
in my coffee like a digestive
and watch it sink.
I want to swallow it whole,
holy communion
dissolving on my tongue.
Elizabeth Kemball is a writer from Stoke-on-Trent, living in Wales. Her work has been featured in various journals and anthologies including Black Bough, The Broken Spine, and Ink Sweat & Tears. Her poetry micro-chapbook was published by Nightingale & Sparrow Press.
T: @lizziekemball| I: @lizziekemball
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