When Gillian's Here


When Gillian’s Here


They’re loud tonight.

These voices that clamour.

Gillian’s here.

Standing by the kitchen window with the sky behind her - as sullen and moody as she is, shot through with the deepest blue of the darkest night.

She’s been standing there for a while now, and she hasn’t said a word.

She’s running the tip of a finger over a burn on the side of her hand.

Just at the base of her thumb.

She’s done it getting a cake out of the oven. A week ago.

One she’d made. Which isn’t something you’d imagine she’d do.

But she did. She does. And it tasted good, but the scars still there, and in this cold winter, in this kitchen that’s stayed dark for too long, the scar turns purple, milky, and she worries at it,

Because she doesn’t want to look up.



Natascha Graham


I am a lesbian writer of stage, screen, fiction, poetry and non-fiction. My work has been previously selected by Cannes Film Festival, Raindance Film Festival and has been published in Acumen, Rattle, Litro, The Sheepshead Review, Every Day Fiction, Yahoo News and The Mighty to name but a few.   

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