the manse

i think of distance.
of summer nights, stretched and endless,
and warm, green mornings soaked with dew.

and you, not here.

a wood pigeon coos,
and i toss and turn in the sun-spill on
the sheets, a shade of orange like

the yolk of an egg.

i think of eggs.
sunny side up, or poached, or scrambled,
and how your father says there’s nothing like

getting them fresh.

and then, there:
the two of us walking in the dusk, and there,
the clucking of hens, air thick with wild garlic.

the smell is familiar,

but the ache is new;
i wonder if i will ever see that place again.
the firepit, the garden. the wall your cat

likes to sit on.

a dainty, bloody paw
halfway to the scrape of her tongue,
pale eyes watchful.

Zara Williams (they/she) is a twenty-something queer poet and storyteller based in Scotland. They were the winner of the non-fiction segment of L'Èphemère Review's Inaugural Writing Awards, and through them published their debut chapbook, We Begin In The Dark. They have also published work with Mineral Lit Mag, Corvid Queen, and The Rising Phoenix Review. A postgrad student of Medieval Literatures and Cultures at The University of Edinburgh, they have a fascination with stories, and all things magical and dusty. You can observe their stream of consciousness in real time on Twitter or Instagram @zdeawilliams.