He tells me
he has an invisible key
to unlock the sky,
but not what this makes possible.
He asks me
Why he can’t have pretty things
when I come home
with a tree inked behind pink glass.
I tell him
he can have pretty things.
At the make ‘n do shop
he chooses buttons and sparkle.
We spread a bright sky
on dark paper.
With laughter and cheap gems
anything is possible.
The wisdom of a four-year old
I want this kerb for my pet.
I am going to kill the weather with a knife.
I don’t want to talk about marshmallows.
I am running out of cuddly toys to grow out of me.
I want to play hotchog.
But first, I want to pretend to be a Transformer.
I had a bath the tomorrow that was before today.
You smell like camouflage.
Camouflage smells like superheroes.
Superheroes smell like blue paint.
It is quite difficult to drive a cloud.
Is your heart in a cage so if doesn’t fly away?
A blot on the week
It leaks into Monday
like a forgotten pen
where they aren’t noticed.
you notice a blot
on the corner of a tissue.
Discount it as a solitary darkness.
By Friday the sticky black
has clogged your purse, hairbrush, keys.
Left a smear on your mobile screen
over the face of your son.
Sarah L Dixon, The Quiet Compere of Quiet, quiet, LOUD! in Chorlton, Manchester. She has toured The Quiet Compere format around 25 cities with Arts Council backing. She runs regular writing workshops. Sarah has been published in Three Drops from a Cauldron, The Interpreter’s House, The Stare’s Nest, Ink, Sweat and Tears, YorkMix, Rain Dog and others. Mum to 5-year old Frank, she is married to Philip who she re-met seven years after college (where they never went out), for some reason she was in a pink wig and sequin dress that night, just for the hell of it!