Poem by Ruby Lawrence
I have remembered myself with wax, using heated bodies of remoulded time, sight becoming hostile to sun, comfort zones shrinking into darkness. Yeah, it’s pretty quiet. A family can explode like a jar of apples, leaving behind a very small final arrangement. Candlelight bruises retinas so I close my eyes, multiplying the scorchy residue into parents, cousins, siblings, and a score of butter-faced children. Obviously, this is just an act of imagination. Down here I have nothing to spark. Everything—the lighting of new candles, and really, everything— relies on remnant flame.
About Ruby Lawrence
Ruby Lawrence (she/her) is a poet, writer and performer based in Glasgow. In 2023, she was shortlisted for the Out-Spoken Prize for Performance Poetry. With a background in theatre, she loves working across different media. Her writing has been published by The Moth, Pilot Press, Mycelia and others.