Illustration by Sussi Louise Smith.

My sisters

My sisters and I 
hide in hills that 
sing of Lir 

and make hearts 
from spoiled leaves 
to mop our fears. 

My sisters and I 
wrap our arms 
around lost time 

and weep for 
the moments we never 
had in rhyme. 

My sisters and I 
stand in thimbles 
along prison stitches 

and in the lonely 
moon hours we 
howl at her skies. 

My sisters and I 
burned our hands 
up on Pendle 

but they know
we can never die, 
our songs never lie.