Hushed waves roll in and out softly
as though they know we are grieving.
Salt breeze, seaweed clinging to an old tyre
floppy as a newborn.
Our footprints in the sand delicate
like the edge of a pie crust;
we leave a trail along the shoreline
as we unfold to the tide.
A lot of things have happened this year.
My mother & sisters denied the pandemic,
a star disappeared from the sky and a flag.
Sarah Palin sang Baby Got Back.
A beast was finally caged.
My daughter learnt the word Fuck.
A little place named Olten was showered
in small nibs of Lindt;
I look into my own ever-changing sky,
waiting for some to fall.
Kayleigh Campbell is a second-year Creative Writing PhD Researcher at The University of Huddersfield. Her debut pamphlet Keepsake was published by Maytree Press in 2019 and she also won the Gloucestershire Poetry Competition the same year. Most recently her work has appeared in Butcher’s Dog and Ink, Sweat & Tears.