Boy
Out picking gooseberries
her fingers encased with possibility
my mother goes.
Beneath her striped shirt
she carries in her
small frame
this thing called
boy. Neither short nor tall,
a pumpkin seed.
Globe boy, floating in Chinese
boxes. He learns to swim young.
His freckles do not appear
on account of there being no sun.
No amount of gooseberry jam
can entice him.
He is gone
before we even know
of his coming.
Lydia Searle studied BA English with Creative Writing at Goldsmiths College and graduated in 2011. She currently works as a youth worker in Peckham and has recently been published in Stop Sharpening Your Knives.