top of page

The Den

  • Writer: Lippy
    Lippy
  • Oct 22, 2021
  • 1 min read

Amelia Bird writes "The Den" - transcription below.

Holding and held,

I am sewn into the past,

In this fleeting

grasp of memory I am there,

In that moment I am young

and new and cradled,

Flesh raw to the touch

Countdown humming

Pots clatter next door

Yellow tinted curtains curve,

The World. It's just that room

Nothing more

E n d l e s s

E t e r n a l

In that moment I never

went to his funeral

and wore a black velvet dress

I tried to wear for a month after

In that moment

we are suspended in that childhood place

In that moment it's just us

Even though now I've forgotten his face

Words and photo by Amelia Bird


Recent Posts

See All
Stone at the Creek, Sir

Sir, a report of a stone, Sir, I found down at the creek, brushed with water like egg brushes pastry, dotted and spotted in drips and drabs, half-dry, half-cold. Sir, the stone was pebble-grey, warm,

 
 
 
We Are the Oscillograph

To take us to the sky, We study the celluloid film, The oscillograph paper enfolded in our hands, The numbers are reduced again. Reels of paper pool at our feet, It requires careful observation, All t

 
 
 
An Ode to Brotherton

Sat in eerie silence, the kind that suspends, borrowing grief from the future. Reaching through with sticky hands, to steal something I can call mine. In the same way, a sweet friend took the floor

 
 
 

Comments


bottom of page