Issue 10

Winter 2014


The Black Water

is lapping at your cup and saucer.
Do you really not see it? Ink sloshing
against fine-rimmed china.

My eyes are on your kindness, on
a vase of sweet peas in your alcove.
Quiet standard lamp by pale-blue armchair,

casting its aura. But I can’t not see
the cold dark water. Can’t not feel its oil
seep up through my boyfriend’s jumper.

You pass a plate of small pink cakes –
even as the black sea licks bookshelves,
light-shades. Even as I hoist my body

out of this chair – toppling delicate
oval table – back away across worn
grey carpet, grope for the door.


Charlotte Gann