By Bethan Rees
Her hair is loose around her shoulders.
Unbrushed and unblushed, she is new.
She hugs herself,
squeezing tears from her chest and arms.
She steps through the puddle of herself,
kneels and cries into the reflection.
Through the cracks in the pavement
water nourishes earth below the foundations.
Nothing can grow from this.
The harsh, thick slabs are in the way.
Dripping in emotion, she shakes the rain from herself,
materialising into a cloud that follows her.
The sun shines through it, but still it rains.
When will she take her eyes off the ground
and see the faded start of a spectrum appear?