As she stood, she blinked back
the sun saturated dust motes.
Like a crash landed butterfly, crumpled
shoulders slumped to the base
of this dirty sunbeam slant.
It was a strange slightly alien place,
and yet familiar, like a family photograph.
Once she used to live inside the lines,
now it felt like she had been left behind.

It was eerie in the empty station,
all those daily faces had vanished,
evaporated as the water ran dry.
A dusty town, an empty mind
no timetables adorned the walls
no sight or sound of the next train calling.
The bluebird’s song is long since gone,
a ghostly chink of china rides the breeze.
Her thoughts echoed off the empty
platform, as all the nameless, faceless,
shameless pushed on by.

© Copyright 2016 Abigail Baker


After the autumn rains have past
I see them sigh
in the pitch velvet night, I crack a smile.

As they soundly sleep
I silently retrieve
this stolen warmth away.

Then with the dawn tumbling
down a vertigo blue sky,
ice rattled air marks an iron punch frost.

Awake they scuttle, shivering
breath blowing dragon clouds of vapour
racing to kindle fire.

The winter sun bows low submitting
to my bidding, hidden among bare branches
failing to pierce shadows of ivy and mistletoe.

Huddled they listen to the whisperings of snow,
the white queen is in ascendance now.

© Copyright 2016 Abigail Baker