Fire burning and

Trees falling and

You managed

To escape.


I was promised

That I would not be alone.

But we could not

Predict this.


But they did.

They predicted.

We chose

Not to listen.


We chose greed and comfort.

We told ourselves that this is

The only way

To be happy.


But now

Death has saved you

And I am

Still trying to live.



I’m starting to think that

You saw right through me

And that I wasn’t the only

One for you.

You moved on too fast.

You were not a hero.

You did not miss me so

Much after all.

I think you knew that I would cry

And you were right

Because the fright of

Losing you hurt.

You should have known better

Than to crack a heart

That had only started to

Be whole again.

Fast Forward

What made you start running?

Pen and paper.

I’ve heard it before.

Evening time and glass of wine.

Nothing can beat me…

I asked her for more.


Movie on pause, mum,

Oh mum,

… If cancer can’t beat me.

Up in the sky with

Trees big, rivers wide and

Lines I can’t see.


Nothing can beat me.

I fly without falling.

You were the cause.

Oh mum, my mum,

Wires can break

And nothing will pause.


Is this nature?

When they howl like clockwork

Wishing goodnight.

Because they have to let each other know

They care.

They’re there.

When they scrabble for food

And only one wins.

The big one, the red one.

He wins.

But green leaves and blue skies and grey clouds and white frost and children laughing and I’m smiling and

This is nature, surely?

When she barks and she whelps

And she shouts “no more.”

When they don’t listen and they smell and they heave and

She tries and she cries

But they are on top already

And she’s under the hammock

Because she’s scared and she’s sick.

But they are on top already and she


When her eyes are blank and her body is still because it is too late.

Is this nature?

Is this the way it’s meant to be?


I put down my phone. I wonder how many stories begin like this. “I put down my phone.” A lot, I’d imagine. But my story starts when I picked up a phone.

When my dad died, I got his phone. A fancy iPhone as well.

We would be out for dinner – me, my two brothers, and my dad. Soccer would usually dictate where we ate, so I grew used to pub food. “Dad, let’s go somewhere where we can talk. Sure, she’s no interest in the football,” my eldest brother said, nodding at me.

We went in to the city. I think it was Italian food and I got pasta. We were talking. “The match is four-two,” my dad would say, checking the score on his phone.

He would bring me home from music class on Thursdays. We would always stop at a newsagent on the way. “What ice cream do you want?” he would ask me every week. “I don’t like ice cream,” I would always answer.

My dad wasn’t on Facebook, but he had the app. When he took part in the ice bucket challenge, he asked me to upload it to my profile, even though I wouldn’t be able to tag him in it, and none of his friends would see it. Maybe some of my cousins would see it. Someone would see it.

We were out for dinner again. “Will you have the beef?” “Dad, she’s vegetarian.” “Since when?” “Almost ten years now.”

When my dad died, I got his phone. A fancy iPhone as well. I uploaded a poem from his fancy iPhone. It got over 100 likes. But that wasn’t why I did it.

I went through the messages. Mostly between him and his brothers, my uncles. Exam results, pictures of me, updates of my love life. He knew it all. And I didn’t realise until I got his fancy iPhone.

– What will she have 4 dinner?x

– No meat. She’s vegetarian x

He knew it all.