They were always building new houses
beyond the fence at the end of our street,
disappearing ten thousand years of field
beneath the brick-stacks, the untidy foundations.
She led me down toward the hole; she was two years
older than me, after all, so I followed like a daft pup,
wagging his tail. I knew the story well. Everyone did;
how she’d plunged off that cliff, a hundred feet,
and walked away. In the newspaper cutting
they showed the cliff, but not her face,
those caramelised freckles and her frog eyes.
A big arrow pointed to the beach below.
She told me how if you kiss someone three times –
one of them on the lips – you have to marry them.
I looked outside at the wedge of blue sky
above her head, and thought about falling.
first published in Dream Catcher, Issue 32, 2015