· A Birthday Letter ·
by Zoë Wells
One day I’ll meet you in the streets of south London
Twenty years from now
When all this is long
Said and done, saying how
Strange it is the way time flies.
We’ll get coffee anyhow
In a small café, avoiding eyes
Like you told me to and I always did.
And tucked between piles
Of dirty plates and tables, we’ll say how weird
It is to see each other again,
In London, when we were long done and far rid
Of the pain
That comes with standing in the same room
And outside the rain
Will pitter and patter and our spoons
Will clink in empty coffee cups
And there’s a thousand moons
Between now and then but knowing now then I’ll act up –
Because that’s what I do –
And you’ll tell me to grow up
Because that’s you
And I’ll order another coffee
And you might apologise but who
Can really tell. We
Might talk more, or less, and
Maybe, just maybe
When I walk you’ll ask “Can
I see you again?” And I’ll see
You, pale standing, voice shaking and hands
Clenched together in a sea
Side knot, something
I knew when I was three
From those days spent building
Sandcastles and sand men and sand some-
Things, such strange things
And so long ago, and the memories’ll flood and as they come
I’ll nod and say it’s been a while
But I would like to see you again mum.
But then maybe I’ll just walk into the streets of south London
Zoë is a poet and short story writer currently studying at the University of Warwick. She splits her time between Geneva and Leamington Spa, and can be found at zoewells.com
Feature photo by Alex Thornber
Use Your Words 
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