Quiet, Elizabeth
Elizabeth is hiding in the cupboard under the sink
Small enough to fold between cream cleaner and floor polish
Too big to keep elbows away from wire wool
Knees away from the slick puddle of the U bend
Nose away from the liquitab assault
Pine and fresh linen and special sugarplum edition
Her tight curls skimming the strong stainless bulge of the sink
She breathes through an open mouth
and flexes each of her fingers in smooth repetition
Mama
Elizabeth has used the child lock to her advantage
The timer on her watch illuminates
green numbers tumbling down
She can hear the slap of small squat hands
The soft drag of sleepsuit over tiled floor
He traverses the kitchen like a hot, squirming explorer
Mama, nngghhhhhhh
Box breathing, they call it
The darkness in the cupboard sends painful transient relief
The illusion of sleep, a sweet refuge of peace
In 2,3,4
Elizabeth is a nice name she thinks. 4 strong sounds
Out 2,3,4
She breathes, silent lips shaped in an ‘o’, holding on to the idea of herself
Who is Elizabeth? The singular being
Her ability to recognise garden birds by their call
Her favourite flavour of ice cream
Her opinion on foreign policy
Soon the cupboard will be just a cupboard again
Elizabeth will sit on the sofa, on the stairs, she will sleep in her bed
00:00:00 vibrates the watch
She flicks the catch and the veneer door swings open
hi darling
A familiar catch in a tiny throat
and her heart cracks open all over again
Kirsty Crawford studied Creative Writing at the University of Strathclyde, Glasgow before moving to London to study performing arts. Switching career into wildlife conservation and writing features for environmental publications, she now works in community engagement for a marine charity. Instagram: @wildscotplace