But I was afraid
of how sweet words sour in the press
of the years of the babies of the bills
of our disappointed standards and skin stretching
and the little wrinkles creeping in
of the black void when you go
of the sealed envelope I pressed to the lamp
and found beaming with cursive promises.
The Little Prince has golden hair his smile is
crooked his eyes are green and the wild birds
are flying south. He won’t stay.
No one has ever done what they could.
The black alleys in Belfast are filling with rain
like your hair slowly fills up with silver
between the borders of birthdays
when you’re not looking.
I could have said yes.
Bryana Joy is a writer and full-time artist fascinated by traditional art forms and the subtle beauty of literature. She spent twelve of her growing-up years in the Middle East and she and her husband are currently preparing to move to York, England for further study. Last year, she launched the Letters From The Sea Tower, a handmade monthly subscription letter full of watercolour sketches, paintings, and snippets of glory from the Great Books. She has one full-length collection of poetry (Having Decided To Stay, 2012) and her work has appeared in about a dozen literary journals.
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