I unroll a teal-blue sky to draw the day
on its awning. With nubs of wax I shape
chimeras in clouds of lemon yellow and
magic mint. I layer raw umber over blizzard
blue, match mulberry to orange-red.
I peel the paper casing from the black crayon
to seal the techni-coloured page with night.
I’ve found a way to cover up the things I love
then catacomb them under my bed.
It’s there I find a fetch-in-waiting feeding on
the shrubbery of dust and maize leavening
the creaks on the wooden floor to roll green-blue
marbles across its pitch. She snaps the necks
of my crayons then washes her hands in the blue-
gray sink cinching the water as she flicks them
dry. She unrolls the awning to a world buttered
both sides with tar but in its middle: an orange-
yellow sun scratched there by the nails of a girl.
Sarah Bryne lives and work in Cork, Ireland. She has been writing poetry since 2013 and have been awarded several prizes including a Cork City Council Artist Bursary Award and 1st prize in the Doolin Poetry Competition 2015.