Eventually, for Samuel

We were two catkins from the same willow
guzzling at the same teat.
Now we’re genres apart and there’s always four years
on top
of that.
At seven and eleven our rabbit died.
He kept her droppings in a film canister.
At fourteen and eighteen he plucked our dog’s hairs,
folded them in a tissue, tucked away for luck.
I do the same with pinecones and bottle caps,
receipts and dice.
When this happens to trees
it is called inosculation.

Anisha Jackson (she/her) is a first-class Literature with Creative Writing graduate from the University of East Anglia. Her writing revolves around the aesthetics of the everyday and the relationship she has with her mother’s home country, Nepal. She also writes about lesbian love. In 2020 she started the digital platform SIGNED, NEPAL for Nepali creatives. In September 2021 Anisha starts her MA in Creative and Life Writing at Goldsmiths University, London. Her work can also be found in MIR Online, as of December 2020.