Void of logic because the screams drowned it out. She gives me cake and tells me
it's not my time- she checked the calendar
and then leaves me to climb free with renewed vanilla frosting energy.
Gardeners of the Forest
Nimble orange fingers pluck ripe fruit
to colour her tongue and paint
rubbery black lips until they drip.
She gently folds thick green
padded hammocks to hang in
the canopies above. Unseen eyes watch her blaze
under the filtered rays as her
eyes shift to gaze toward the
ever closer rumbles of war.
Trees fall with her hope, hiding her mini me, the mother
swings amongst the felling and fallen to face them. She raises her hands to skin on hot metal machines. A gentle soul’s silent protest on
toppling trees and disbanding
carefully folded leaves. The rumble roars a war cry.
Removed she isn’t replaced,
the nest lies half empty. Green fingered with orange fur
it wails for a future where
they are left alone.
Katharine Cheetham is a short story writer and occasional poet working on her debut novel. She has been previously published by Fincham Press, Student Life Magazine and various blogs. An avid dreamer, Katharine likes to write magic realism with the goal of changing the world with words. She is currently the final year of studying a BA in Creative Writing at Roehampton University. When Katharine isn't writing you will find her in Richmond Park or baking brownies. You can follow her on: