We sit in the glare
of the morning sun
A mug of tea
in our respective hands

I perch at your side
all pyjamas
and messy hair
I am 5 years old again
but you are the one
propped against pillows

From the bed
we can see the woods we walked
and I remember
the times we talked
of cabbages and kings
and things I didn’t know
I needed to know

Time is at its limits
Its ticks and tocks
press against us
like a visitor we don’t want to admit
we refuse entry

and talk
some more
of inconsequential things



Lisa Oliver is a writer and artist based in Cheshire where she lives a quiet life, writing, painting and teaching neuro-diverse young people in a specialist arts college. Lisa is passionate about enabling others in art and writing