That inky tree
against the palest darkest blue
looks nothing like you
except it does
branch out and over
like a harrowing truth
and that cluster of leaves
is a little like the curl
on your forehead
and this branch
starfishes its fingers
just like the way you dance.
But the trunk, stock-still,
is nothing like your hips –
it doesn’t sway or worry.
I didn’t try to think of you
tonight, the sky a cinema.
But now I have, I’ll never know
if it’s a choice or neural grooves.
Either way, I think I like you better than the tree.
Carlotta Riechmann, 21, recently completed her degree in French and English Literature at the University of Edinburgh. Her work has been published in The Broad. She writes poetry and short stories.