Moon
The moon reaches through
the crack in the curtain
to draw on the wall.
‘You do not belong here,’
she says, ‘not unless
you are dreaming.’
‘But they’re expecting me,
I reply, ‘and dreaming
is not allowed.’
I open the front door
and draw a rectangle
over the threshold.
She asks me,
Why are you out here?
‘I have to,’ I reply, ‘I’m sorry.’
She asks, Where are you going?
‘To work,’ I reply.
But where are you going? she asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply.
Iona Milburn is from Bristol and teaches Religious Studies. She is most inspired to write when by the sea, up mountains or people watching