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


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