six, and all hard bones: chin jutting like a ship’s prow,
determined to go out dawn-treading – otherwise,
all unruly curls. my mother said it was a crown, a halo;
I was no angel yet, though.
sure, we nearly never made it to seven,
me and my clawed, hungry hands – she was a goblin girl,
a gremlin girl, giggling with the garden snails, chewing up stories
like corner-shop sweeties – never content to just have
sickness between my ears, I packed a thousand books
beneath the roof of my skull. and I never went near
heaven, no –
I stayed digging down in the mud
till six turned seven.
Megan studied English at Oxford University, and is now moving on to a Masters in Creative Writing. She likes fairytales, fraught family dynamics, and unreliable narration; she does not like Twitter, but can be found @meginageorge. Her published work is all available at https://meganspublished.tumblr.com.