Lauren Strain

Gone Warmed bones/sticky face/dinner time Soft bread, salted gristle, limp lettuce Children chatter, louder than gulls/missing mother, therebutnotthere Girl with grey eyes, anemone hair, webbed toes Her greasy palms/her mother’s dress/leaves her mark Totters over burning grit/water’s edge/open my mouth/she dives     Untitled Imagine ships. Imagine journeys, arrivals, multi-coloured roofs and heavy air, the pale ribbon of coastline. Trees stand sentry on the shore, Branches like blackened bones. Imagine his newly cool skin. Grey sea becomes green cloud – cicadas buzz till showers burst. Beside the shadowy pools and crags Rain bleeds into sand. Imagine the huge repeating pines,“Lauren Strain”

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Lauren Strain

I Dreamt Rapunzel Cut My teacher said we’d know we were really remembering everything once we dreamt in French. My first and only French dream came in France, when I dreamt Rapunzel cut off her own hair and climbed down the fire escape. She donated her ponytail to a charity specialising in cancer wigs. The heroes of this tale are the faceless people who ensured her tower was equipped with the requisite safety trappings. I remember this because, as my friends tell me, I have an excellent memory. They ask, Where did we meet? Or Why’d we break up? Or“Lauren Strain”

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Lauren Strain

Years and so much life – years full as the sky in a Dark August. I wish that words could rain from my hands too, but they never come out. But my sister is more beautiful; she is the yellow room Set against thundery skies. Even when we were small, She was Snow White to my Rose Red. She is running down a road, spinning pirouettes, skilled in the sorcery of our mothers. Even as the seasons fall, lit leaves in a smoky wood, she holds out her hand to me. Does she know I love her, but I am“Lauren Strain”

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