What I want from words

by Alice White

Hands
to grasp tender arms
in unexpected rooms.

Spoons
to scoop out the goodness
of my orphan heart.

Scissors
to cut the red tape strung
between my lost twin selves
like faded neon.

Gutters
to capture the runoff
into the rustle of ideas.

Light
scattering the dusk of a starling’s
wing into every known colour.