by Jess Williams

I looked for you
amongst the gorse
prickled yellow luck
snagging on summer dresses.

I wondered if you were
in the yew tree that
the other kids climbed
outdating God himself.

I looked for you
in a box of cheesecloth skirts,
a glitter-striped top,
pantomime costumes.

I tried on tutus, catsuits
and Mummy’s wedding dress,
until they fitted and
I could not pretend.

I devoured page on page
to find a mention you existed,
poured out of the mouths
and pens of strangers
who stuck up LOST signs of their own
perhaps.

I took a chisel and
chip chip chipped to see
if you’d spring fully formed
from the heart of an oak.
There all along.

I excavated the ruins of castles,
swallowed ships’ logs,
peered through a telescope at the stars.
Faces and faces
of friends, lovers, children
and I could not quite make you out.

I asked about you
and you were indescribable.

Jess Williams | @jessandotherstories

Jess Williams lives in Cambridge where she writes down poems she finds in the hollows of trees or behind the sofa.