There’s an empty space
in my carousel. A mare,
cracked mane, chipped paint,
Sarah
<3s
Asha
carved into her seat
flew off in the night.
A note: “No more kid-after-kid,
the same music
against a new skyline, I’ve left
to be a rocking horse for the boy
who was 10p short
of crossing the railing, his knuckles
unwhitening. Please forget me.”
The next night, another. He always wanted
to be a racehorse: his name up in chalk,
the crash of a hedge catching
at unglued hooves.
Dreams of farmyards, tourist beachrides,
coarse hairbrush in riding stables,
cotton candy hands sticking
to someone else’s shoulder.
Now the horses have all gone.
All I have are empty poles, ghosts
of laughter, organ grinding
for not a soul.
in my carousel. A mare,
cracked mane, chipped paint,
Sarah
<3s
Asha
carved into her seat
flew off in the night.
A note: “No more kid-after-kid,
the same music
against a new skyline, I’ve left
to be a rocking horse for the boy
who was 10p short
of crossing the railing, his knuckles
unwhitening. Please forget me.”
The next night, another. He always wanted
to be a racehorse: his name up in chalk,
the crash of a hedge catching
at unglued hooves.
Dreams of farmyards, tourist beachrides,
coarse hairbrush in riding stables,
cotton candy hands sticking
to someone else’s shoulder.
Now the horses have all gone.
All I have are empty poles, ghosts
of laughter, organ grinding
for not a soul.
Sy is a queer non-binary person living in Edinburgh, Scotland. They write through the haze of cat-/child-induced sleep deprivation to try and make sense of gender, relationships, and ADHD. You can find them on Twitter @TartanLlama and their publications at sybrand.ink.