It's 2015, summertime, with
an afternoon sunshine
gently roasting the cheeks
of a little girl into a
healthy flush. The sweet
sanctuary of the cafe after
school; a fresh playground
amidst the summer heat.
Familiarity, an endless finality of
every poster and notice
memorised through timeless
hours, teaching her
how to read through adverts for
baby sitters
ballet instructors
late-night knitting groups.
School tie discarded, slung
over the back of a squeaky
cafe chair, the usual, she drags
her mum to the counter,
towards the fiery face smiling
behind the till. Warm eyes,
sparkling with stories and life,
already talking to her mum about
her new school teacher
the new muffin recipe
her dad's latest gig.
Her face, bronzed by foreign heat
folds as she guffaws across the cafe,
careless, laughing , at a joke
the little girl doesn't yet
understand. Handfuls
of pink marshmallows,
sweet and pure, exchange hands
with a wink and a 'don't tell your mum'.
The girl sticks two together and calls them butterflies.
The broken clock near the door
shows the same time
as it did an hour ago, hands suspended, never-ending.

I carry flowers, an expensive bunch
of lilies and roses,
tilted in towards my chest - like
a child in a green paper blanket - to protect
them against the gale as
I carry sympathy home. The rain
soaks through the paper. I nip
off a dead leaf between my forefinger
and thumb, thoughts lingering,
nose turning numb. Four years
since I spoke to Mandy, at
'Mandy's Cafe!'
whisked away by time briskly slipping.
Moving house, growing up.
And yet, when
the sun comes out later today,
I see a little girl with scooter-hit
ankles, and glitter in her hair
reaching out a tiny ink-stained hand
for a warm buttered roll
from a hand memorised
through timeless hours.

I sit on the bench, bathed in the sun,
Listening to water, watching him run.
Tiny feet dance where mine used to play,
And I think of your gifts—
Candy at the end of the day.

Now I’m the one pushing gently,
Afraid of the swing’s height,
But his giggles assure me—
He trusts that with me, it’s all right.

I wonder what filled your heart as you watched me grow,
I can guess the answers, but I’ll never know.
They tell me I’m the best—but I knew the best.
No praise can soften the ache in my chest.

I try, I love, I give all I can,
But your shoes were never meant for another to stand.

I remember
when chased butterflies
proudly flew their colours
and grass-stained knees
were medals of honour.

With Mother's lipstick on my face
smeared like war paint
meant for a warrior,
not for the war
that ageing would become.

The weight of survival
sits heavy with me now,
where feathers of ignorance
once floated weightless in the air
like innocent childhood fun.

I didn't know back then
that shadows belonged
when moving with the sun,
or that time was anything
but an endless summer.

Tell me, when did puddles
become mirrors,
instead of being
wellyboot splashed
into imaginary worlds?

©️Lizzie Bevis

Someone once said,
When death finds you, may it find you alive,
How brainwashed are we, with the conspiracies we’ve been fed,
That we end up making both partners and enemies out of time, all through our life?

From the first alarm you snooze,
To the one you set while gulping down the *****.
From that half-hearted morning grwm,
To with every chime, wanting nothing more than to flee.

We used to read once, remember?
Cant even hold a book the right way up now, through its dying embers.
How desperately we wanted to grow up,
If only we knew how much it would ****.

We wanted independence, though
To do things in our own time,
Yet here we are, mere extras in the puppet show
Grinding our bones raw, just to earn a dime.

With the never-ending turmoil that is adult life,
With the vicious cycle of cancelled plans and meet-ups,
When death finds you, may it find you alive
And save you from the prison of ‘I don’t give a ****’.

For the second time, I'm five
watching the rain pelt the ground outside,
contained behind the glass which
fogs with the heat of the kitchen.
My granny laughs at her own jokes,
leaning over the kitchen counter cutting
up vegetables into boiling water.