The pages of a book shudder, flutter, then turn, all at once
a pen rolls to the floor
it is not the dream, nor the wind
that wakes her
but the low call in the air, in the sky
of her name, perhaps, or a sound, that falls over itself as it comes, like her name,
whispered too quickly between the creak of the floorboards
and the opening of the door
she seeks it
outside the night is high and black
clear and drawn all over with everyone else’s stars
she, a silhouette framed in an open door, half in, half out listening to the far, far away
rumble of German bombers, of London burning, of the sky falling
but still, she hears it, a murmur, a snake in the grass, a feather falling, a moment
passing from one page, to the next
About the Poet
Raised simultaneously by David Bowie and Virginia Woolf, Natascha Graham writes fiction, non-fiction and poetry, as well as writing for stage and screen. She lives with her wife in a house full of sunshine on the east coast of England.
Her play, How She Kills, was performed by The Mercury Theatre in August 2020 and broadcast on BBC radio in September. My second play, Confessions: The Hours, has been performed by Thornhill Theatre London, and both have been selected by Pinewood Studios and Lift-Off Sessions as part of their First Time Filmmakers Festival 2020.
Her poetry, fiction and non-fiction essays have been previously published by Acumen, Litro, Flash Fiction Magazine, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Yahoo News and The Mighty.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.