A poem by JENNA HAM.


On the brink of another month,

I’m a string of lunar lights,

and bulbs that smash.


There’s power in these deserted streets in the morning of honey hour,

alone with my thoughts:

marigold, honeydew, white-gold, barely gold –

the gold of sleepwalkers and the



Image courtesy of Jenna Ham.


I’ll crackle like a vinyl as it

comes alive,

and wash my face in cyan clouds with a bed-head step.

My past selves echo out of these faceless sunny days,

and rise after dark.


It’s exhilarating.


When I read the signs I realise

that these have been the most important days of my life.

Ic hine cūðe: I knew him.

Under this flat, snow-globe summer

I am free to roam.


Image courtesy of Jenna Ham.

Featured image courtesy of Joe Joyce, with permission.

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