by Rosemary J. Collins
Inspired by Miroslaw Balka’s sculpture at the Tate Modern.
Turn your head
to check that the light’s still there,
a white square guarding your back. Ahead: a black void
and the murmuring music of stranger’s voices.
The light of someone’s mobile phone flickers ahead
like a ghoul pretending to be your guide.
One deep breath. One stumble forwards. Thumping heart. You are
on the edge of a cliff, about to fall, you are
teetering on the tip of a monster’s tongue. You are at the risk of
touching a complete stranger. Instead,
thud, you walk into a wall. Its soft padding
caresses your face like moths’ wings. You’ve seen enough.
Rosemary J. Collins lives in Cheltenham and is studying in the Sixth Form. She loves reading and her ambition is to be a writer.
The Pygmy Giant 