Peeoy
In a dictionary with scorched edges,
my daughter finds the Scottish word
for homemade firework,
a twisted cone of gunpowder,
lit at the top.
Darkening the room,
and removing small animals,
she fires the syllables into the air,
whistling bursts of red and yellow,
her laughter a cascading fountain,
sparks fizzing on the furniture.
In a decade,
dreaming of a guy to inflame,
her voice is still climbing,
ringing the stars,
colouring every dark out there.
Helen Addy is from Forres in North East Scotland. She has been previously published in BUGGED, Snakeskin e-zine, What the Dickens? and Shetland Libraries’ Bards in the Bog project. She is currently working towards a first pamphlet.