by Kate Coghlan
People used to call before visiting. Now they appear saying, ‘just wondered how you’re doing,’ ‘just found these baby clothes in the attic’, ‘just cooked extra for dinner’. They orbit the cot, waiting for Sol to wake. You rotate through an endless cycle of eat, sleep, cry, while drooping flowers shed pollen on the white kitchen worktop.
You escape one morning craving birdsong, the chill of autumn air, the sight of a golden leaf twisting in the wind. But it’s your gut that’s twisting, and there’s a heavy, inexplicable pull deep inside your chest. At the street corner, you hesitate.
Author: Kate Coghlan has an MA in Creative Writing from Goldsmiths, and her work has been published by Mslexia, Loft Books, the Dulwich Festival, Spillwords, Visual Verse and the Personal Bests Journal. This is her second entry to the Retreat West monthly micro competition (her first was shortlisted). She is a freelance writer/editor and lives in Cambridge with her family. Twitter @Kate_Cogs