Hey, let it go.
We’ve already reeled in that string
that had nothing
on the other end of it.
It won’t drag anymore.
Remember? We pulled it in for mum to see.
Don’t think about its soggy redness
where the wine flopped out of the glass,
like a minnow thrusting itself out of a bucket
to return to its river, to kiss the ivory carpet
and bleed into its cotton.
I swear I had seen that before.
But this is all so brief, I remind you:
a tour on a bullet train
coated in heavy, rooted wax
with flecks of wicks without flames
to stay and burn
for long enough.
Zoe Parmenter is a student from the University of Winchester where she discovered her love for poetry under the tutelage of Julian Stannard. She is an emerging writer who was born in Poole, Dorset where the antics of her adolescence now bleed into her work.