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?
*
Heartland Society of Women Writers 
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