you say i burn
too brightly
for your liking.
in the earliest pre-dawn
you hurry me from the
cottage and
run to the river. expect
me to follow.
(well. that’s a given.)
and i trail behind—
don’t set the forest alight,
you whisper.
like saying it any louder will
make it happen.
a fleeting hand-to- wrist
pull me to you,
to the riverbed.

douse me down, push me in
and fit me with an
let me pretend i’ve
learned to breathe

you call this my
and when i emerge
lank and plain once more
you shine with approval.

(it won’t last.)

(it never does.)


SARAH LITTLE is a poet-storyteller. When she isn’t conjuring new tales or adding to her to-create list she blogs, knits, and sometimes goes looking for shenanigans. Her work has appeared in Alien Pub, Milk + Beans, and Moonchild Magazines, among others. Her second poetry chapbook, Not Your Masterpiece, was released in January 2018. Find her on Twitter @tuckedinacorner, Instagram @tuckedintoacorner, and