the gates of colesworth
it was easier. to trail aisles. taking what you needed. buns are just so grabbable. sausage so easy to pass off. when bulging. i check expiry dates and claim the soon to be unworthy. in my clutches. silencing their shivering rattle. with too tight hugs. nine times i circle the border. greeting each eye. as they track and take stock. swearing by the water. while i feed this current. and toe the line. between death and immortality. nectar and poison. She is the river. and all I can do is hold on tight. to my unanswered prayers. as i rock the boat. before She stood at the helm. goodness was more than a green light of approval. it was human. an inviolable rule. at Her side. i swore we were worth more. now, we pay to win. transaction completed. and She doesn’t touch me the way She used to. just opens. i’m a book with an attractive cover. even after running Her hands over me. smelling the rot under my collar. Her body still pries open. with a sharp smile. i pass through. and still feel whole. despite my nerves hanging like a garland in aisle three. survival is a sacrifice.
Sarah Birch (they/she) is a Boorloo writer and is currently undertaking their Master of Arts at Curtin University. Sarah has been published in Cordite, Artery, Damsel and Pulch, to name a few. When not headbutting a keyboard, Sarah is either doomscrolling or loving so much it aches.