it is Gone

…it always was. The mirror
conceals her body. The tree
won’t cover her limbs. The sun
refuses to hide her tears. The roots

shadow her body. The tree
when she begs, it begins to run;
refuses to hide her tears. The roots
and dandelions growing feral

when she begs, it begins to run;
towards icicles wrapped in fire
and dandelions growing feral
in the darkness. It sprouts free,

towards icicles wrapped in fire
it festers, only daylight calming
the cloudburst, until the sun sets
and nothing is old because…


Chloe Higgins (New South Wales)