phone dies
completely alone
so dark
outlines
in trees
footsteps stick
mud
she nearly slips
chews

acid
mixes in her blood

before the message came
the world was so
cool
for the first time since
she’d moved back
she was happy
hunting frogs with the torch app
on her phone
she found an army
camping by the vast forest pond
stared and contemplated
origin

let her pupils make templates of their skin
so happy then
floating on the tide that flowed
through the glen
hearing summer drag
the gentle ocean

nothing could touch her
she imagined life on earth
when the land was covered by sea
looked at the skin on her hands
and thought of evolution
undiscovered species
always changing
families and savagery
the words
of an Attenborough documentary

delighted to be
a mammal
she heard the distant
tidal sound
and turned from it
went deeper
thicker trees
elevated path
the river got louder
the message reawakening
a world within her
then snatching it away

just after her phone died
ten little speckled frogs
jumped their warted hides
into the pool
leaving doubtful shapes
to parlay
with the thieving canopy
that stole her stars
her signal
and her battery

she’s not the sort to fear so quick
but now she realises she’s
tripping really hard
and yes she knows the forest
but it’s pitch black
and her torch is fucked
so all she’s got is an indistinct path
and the sound of branches dredging
up the river and

a memory
of being three years old
lingering in the juice aisle
bright plastic nebula of bottles
sheer wonder at the colour
then a fear stronger than the emptiness of space
when she turned and couldn’t see
her mother

the panic an eternity
finally when she heard the tannoy
call her name it wasn’t louder
than her heart it wasn’t louder
than trolleys shifting apart
or the thunder of the checkout lady’s laughter

it’s not the drugs
it’s not the dark
this river’s going to flood
she needs to get back to the park
she needs to get out of the wood
cos its cold cold dread
when the moon doesn’t shine
and she gets the feeling something
is watching her behind

laughter– definitely
something
on the water
maybe
she moves away from the river
the wind whispers in her ear
the voice of her father

‘Daughter, come inside.
The snowman can wait.
Come in we’ve lit a fire
your uncle has a story just for you
So come and warm your little cockles
By the fire Kathy.
Come on.’

She’s surprised
by the strength of this memory
And the anxiety it creates
mirrored by fluctuating branches
that look to dip in and out
of the river
And the path ahead
vibrating like a loudspeaker

a crest builds in her
she holds her own hand

that awful story
fear
she wants to turn away
to drown the memory
but she’s transfixed by the branches
her eyes rearrange their reflection
on the water

the face
of the tiger